Solace
by prongsdeer
Summary: Lumberjack/Writer AU Five years ago, after the loss of a loved one, Steve isolated himself from everyone. He desperately tried to find solace in solitude, unable to realize how lonely he became in the process. Until he meets you—another lonely soul, alone in the middle of nowhere. You were both seeking solitude, but found something else along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Being alone and far away from the loud city was actually a lot better than you thought it would be. It was scary at first, especially the nights, when every little noise made you look to see what caused it, making you alert and even more aware that you were on your own in the middle of nowhere. Nonetheless, it was quite peaceful, spending the days alone with no obligations at all, devoting all of your time to yourself and doing things that you loved. Perhaps it was because you chose to live this way for a while, knowing friends and family waited at home, but you didn't feel lonely at all—not yet.

It had been nearly a week since you'd arrived to the little cabin at the edge of the forest near Leadville, a small town in Colorado. After spending all of your days and sometimes even nights around people in the always noisy and crowded New York, being here, isolated, was truly refreshing. You had no doubt after a while it would become boring, but for now, this was exactly what you needed.

Writer's block had never hit you so hard before. Obviously, it wasn't the first time you struggled with it – you've had bad days and even weeks before – but it had been months since you'd written anything that didn't land in the trash can. Exhausted was a poor choice of words to describe what you felt: you were drained, burned out, and people constantly asking about your carrier didn't help at all. Moving to the middle of nowhere, even knowing it was temporary, somehow just felt right. In this place, you'd found the solace you were searching for so long.

The mornings passed pretty much the same way. After waking up, you spent a little more time just staying in bed, enjoying the absolute idleness. A little bit later, you turned some music on, humming or even singing loudly to yourself while you took a refreshing shower, before slipping into some warm leggings and a comfortable sweater. You loved to sit on the porch with a cup of coffee or tea and some delicious breakfast, admiring your surroundings. It was the time of the year when the leaves slowly turned every shade of yellow, orange and red; the sun still giving off just enough heat to warm you up. The earthy, fresh smells filled your nostrils as the wind was blowing.

When you finished your breakfast, you went back to the house. It was a roomy cabin with a comfortable couch, a fireplace, a tiny kitchen and a bathroom downstairs, and with one bedroom in the roof space. Many soft cushions, plaids and blankets covered the sofa and every chair, making the place even cozier. Between the fireplace and the window, there was a little nook with a comfortable chair and a small table—which quickly became your favourite spot to write. You plopped down there, tapping your fingers softly on the table while you waited for the document to open, when your phone started to ring. A grin lifted your lips when you saw your best friend's name on the screen.

"Hey, Bonnie."

"Ah, so you're still alive," she said, only half-jokingly, making you roll your eyes. Ever since you announced the plan to retreat a little and stay alone in the forest, Bonnie was terrified something is going to happen to you. Her mission was to remind you of every horror movie that involved cabins and lake houses.

"We've talked about this…" you breathed out, turning around to look through the window. "Can't you just support me instead of trying to scare me to death? I'll be fine."

The little pause told you she was suffering hard holding back a comment, and you bit back a smile, hearing her sighing. "Alright, alright. How's your writing going?"

You looked back over your shoulder, glancing at the flashing cursor in the empty word document. "Wonderful."

"Great," Bonnie's answer came immediately, and you could hear the bright smile behind her words. "Finish that book soon and come home to us."

"That's not so easy."

And it wasn't. Even though you felt much better in the past few days, you still couldn't find the right words to continue your book. But it had been only a few days since you came here, and you didn't want to give up just yet. Telling this to Bonnie was also not an option—she would definitely try to talk you out of staying longer if she saw it didn't help you yet.

Later that day, long after you finished talking with Bonnie but you were still staring through the window instead of writing, you shut your laptop down. If sitting inside the house, shutting yourself off from everything didn't help, maybe a little walk outside will. You put on your boots and grabbed your backpack, before leaving the cabin.

Instead of the road that led down to the town, you chose to walk on the path near your house. It was a hiking trail that brought you even deeper into the woods, but considering you saw tourists walking nearby from time to time, you didn't worry. Sooner than you expected, you felt the beneficial effects of the nature. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, yet loud from the birds and colourful from the autumn leaves. You reached a part with many birch trees; bark white as snow and leaves brilliant yellow, covering the thin path you were walking on, making it took like a golden river. You walked in deeper when you heard the sound of a fast running brook, and when you'd finally found it, you followed it downstream. Only when you reached the edge of the forest, you realized the sun was getting dangerously low in the sky. It was October, after all; nightfall came sooner than in the summer.

Now with quicker steps, you walked back into the deeper parts of the forest, left the brook—except this time, you couldn't find the path. You went left, because you could've sworn you came from that way, but it didn't seem familiar at all. Still not panicking, you turned around to walk to the other way, but after a good ten minutes of wandering, you had to admit you had absolutely no idea where you were.

You felt your pulse quicken but you took a deep breath, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Oh, are you kidding me?" the words left your lips loudly when you saw there were no signals. Figures. You looked around and shook your head, shivering from the rising wind; the air was colder up here. Leaves were falling like rain drops while you marched through the woods, trying to find a way out, which seemed absolutely hopeless. You groaned to yourself, Bonnie's words echoing in your head on repeat. You're going to get killed and buried in the middle of the forest, or ripped into pieces by a bear—what a great way to go.

Soon, you were almost running, trying not to think every branch was an axe murderer, you caught a glimpse of a cabin. It definitely wasn't the place where you stayed, but it meant you were getting closer to some civilization, which lifted a huge weight off your shoulders. The cottage was so deep inside the forest you doubted anyone lived there, but when you walked past it, now with slower steps, you realized how wrong you were.

When you saw the man who walked up from the basement with an axe in his hand, your first instinct was to take a step back. His head was down, but he looked up at the noise when your feet cracked and then broke a branch. Your eyes widened a bit and you didn't move, and the stranger, seeing you standing there motionless, took a few steps closer.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

You opened your mouth but the words stuck on your throat. He smiled a little and put the axe down, realizing he probably looked rather intimidating like this, before wiped his hands on his jeans and raised his palms. "I don't mean to hurt you. My name is Steve Rogers and I live here. Are you lost?"

A shaky breath left your lips, immediately followed by a nervous chuckle, but you stepped closer, too. Somehow, the way he talked was calming, effortlessly putting you at ease. "I-uh, yes. I'm sorry. I have no idea where I am."

"Well," Steve started, taking one last step towards you. While you were already shivering in a sweater, he was only wearing a red flannel shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled up, and he didn't look like the chilly air would bother him. "Do you know where you're heading? Maybe I can help you get there."

"Yes," you nodded, taking off your backpack and searching for the map you hoped was still there. An old man gave it to you where you rented the car; he even marked the place with a pen where your cabin was. "It's called Woodhaven," you pointed your fingers at the little circle on the map while Steve looked at you, smiling.

"You have a map and you still got lost?"

Glancing up at him, you bit back a sigh. He was the first person you met since you've came here, and you immediately made a fool of yourself. "I can't do anything with it if I have no idea where I am."

Steve leaned closer to have a quick look at the map, pushing his grown, dark blond hair back as he furrowed his brows in concentration. He smelled like sawdust. "It's not so far away from here," he looked at you with a small nod. "Let me walk you back, it's getting dark."

You hesitated first, but decided to accept his offer; if he was a serial killer, saying no wouldn't stop him anyway. "Thank you."

There was a path nearby that he showed you, but led you through the woods instead, saying it was quicker to reach your place this way. The first few minutes of your walk passed in awkward silence. It had been a long time since Steve talked to anyone—of course he met his colleagues every day and his friends visited him from time to time, but holding a conversation with a new person, a complete stranger, no longer seemed as easy as it once was. Living alone isolated had its disadvantages, and while Steve was fully aware he chose to live this way all those years ago, situations like this one made him uncomfortable. Despite that, he was the one who spoke first, eager to know the answer of one question, "What were you doing out there alone?"

"I'm a writer," the answer came instantly without you thinking through what you wanted to say, leaving Steve confused. Only when you looked up at him, seeing the frown that creased his forehead, you realized how stupid you must have sounded. Stupid, or someone who just wanted to show off. "I mean," you chuckled to yourself, putting a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "I'm a writer but I'm having a hard time lately. I thought coming here alone would help to clear my head out and focus better," you shrugged with a smile. "Does it sound crazy?"

"Trust me, it doesn't," his smile didn't reach his eyes, and the shift in his tone made you wonder if there was something that drove him out there too. Well, there probably was—who would choose to live like this, so far away from everything? "Would I have read anything you've written?"

"Well, I have only one published book and a few short stories," you said. "What do you read?"

"A bit of everything," Steve shrugged. "High fantasy, classics, but history mostly. Anything I can get from the library in the town. It's very small."

"I write crime stories," you looked up at him. "Maybe you can find a copy in that library."

Steve smiled. "It would be easier if I knew your name."

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks getting warm. When you reached his house you were too nervous, then so relieved to find someone you completely forgot to introduce yourself. Steve wasn't surprised you were afraid of him when you first saw him—his hair and his beard was grown and messy lately, his cheeks dirty after a long day at work, and he was pretty sure his locks were covered with sawdust. Suddenly, he felt the urge to run his fingers through his hair to wipe the wood dust out of it, but he resisted.

Just after you finally gave him your name, you caught a glimpse of your cabin. "Finally," you said after a relieved sigh. "I thought I was going to die in the middle of the forest."

Steve smiled, but didn't say anything. The sun already went down behind the mountains when you finally reached the edge of the forest. "Do you live there?" you asked, looking back over your shoulder to the direction where his house was. You couldn't see it from here—it was very deep in the forest. "Alone?"

"Not alone," he said. "With my dog."

You just stepped up to the porch, and couldn't hold back a gasp. "You have a dog?"

"Yes. And he's very friendly, so if you want to see him…" Steve trailed off, and he wasn't sure why he offered that. The last thing he wanted was a stranger in his house; he wasn't accustomed to making friends lately. The excited sparkle in your eyes was worth it, he decided.

"I'd love to," you crossed your arms against the cold. "But I really don't want to bother you."

"You wouldn't," Steve shook his head. "How long are you going to stay here for?"

You sighed, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. "As long as it takes. Hopefully just a couple months."

Steve tried to hide his surprise at your words. Staying out here alone for months would drive the most people crazy, besides, in his eyes, you didn't look like someone who was accustomed to any extreme living circumstances. He didn't want to sound rude and scare the only person away who lived close to him though, so he only said, "Winters are though here. If you need any help… with anything… you know where to find me."

You smiled. He seemed so genuinely honest and helpful and it surprised you—after all, you lived in a big city where people were too busy with themselves to help to each other.

Later that night, when Steve lied in bed, exhausted from a long day's work but still wide awake, he was thinking of you. He thought about your smile—nervous, honest. He thought about the smell of your perfume—sweet, fresh, something flowery. Eyes, lost. And first time in a long time, he felt lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

While the first week of your staying was heaven, it became a living hell the next one. You didn't exactly notice when the downfall started, but once you realized, you were already deep in the middle of it. On the bright side, you were writing again—but it pulled all the negative effects on you.

Living alone without a job and a daily routine had its perks – no obligations, no stress, no one told you what to do – but it was easy to lose the balance. It was your sleeping schedule that got completely ruined the soonest: first: you woke up just a little later than you did when you lived in New York, but it didn't take long until you completely lost the control. Sometimes, you found yourself still up at 3 AM, either writing or staring the empty wall while you tried to collect your thoughts. After nights like these, you got up late, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, so the whole routine – if you could call it that – started all over again. Falling asleep in bed was also not guaranteed; you could doze off on the couch, in the chair, or even on the floor next to the fireplace.

This sleeping schedule led to irregular eating habits where you either didn't get a meal for a day, or just kept eating snacks until you felt sick. It made you feel tired and heavy without even realizing what the reason was.

Days passed without leaving the house; your only contact with the nature was when you opened the windows to let in some fresh air (when you didn't forget, of course). You didn't wash your hair for the hell knows how long, and spent days in the same clothes.

And at the top of all, you still felt that everything you've written was utter garbage.

When you started this book, nearly a year ago, you couldn't stop typing. The plot was perfect, the characters flawed and well-crafted, and generally, you loved the way you put your thoughts into words. Everything just flowed easily, naturally, like it should. You typed more than a hundred pages when you noticed the last few chapters weren't as good as before. You had rewritten them, changed them completely, and even though it still didn't seem right, you didn't worry just yet. You moved on, further with the plot—writing something else always seemed still a lot more useful than not writing anything at all. However, after a few forced pages, the bitter truth slapped you in the face: you lost that something that helped to keep going in the previous weeks, months; and you haven't found it since then. And it was driving you crazy.

While you truly hoped isolation could help you with your writer's block, deep down, you knew the disappointment in yourself and your draining job drove you out of the city, more than the promise of all of your problems could be solved by the solitude.

But soon, you started to think writer's block mixed with isolation maybe wasn't such a good idea as you thought it would be; actually, it was kind of suffocating. Back at home, while you didn't always enjoy your job, at least it provided some distraction when you needed. There was your family, your friends—at least one of them was always ready to talk to you. But here, you couldn't lean on anyone; you were locked up with your own thoughts. Sadly, your mind wasn't always a good place.

You were sitting on the floor in your robes, back leaned against the couch, and you thought about Steve Rogers. While you already started to lose your mind in a matter of weeks, he lived out here—well, you didn't even know for how long. By the short conversation you've had, you found him normal, maybe a little quiet, but a man who lived in the forest, alone, was probably not the life of the party. Again, you caught yourself wondering what could drive him into isolation. You'd met many introverted people throughout your life, people who couldn't talk to anyone or just didn't want to, but even the most distant, bitter ones chose to live in the city. Besides, Steve seemed kind and polite.

After you shook yourself a little you stood up from the floor. You had to stop this; you had to stop drowning yourself into self-pity before it was too late. After you cleaned up the place a little, shut your laptop down and packed away your notebooks, you took a warm bath and finally washed your hair. A little walk up and down in the house already made you feel a little better.

Reading always had its deep, inspirational effects on you, but since you'd already read the few books you brought here, your only chance was the small library Steve had mentioned. A little fresh air wouldn't hurt anyway, and you had to buy some supplies as well.

After you changed into some warm, fresh clothes, you got into the rented car and turned the key—it gave a scarily loud noise, but didn't start. A half-crying, half-laughing sound passed your lips, deciding you were probably cursed, before you jumped out of the car and shut the door heavily after yourself.

* * *

Steve spent his morning sitting on the porch, making sketches on the pages of his notebook. It wasn't so long ago when he went to work even on his days off, grabbing onto everything that helped to keep his mind busy—but those days were gone. He would enjoy some silence now; still didn't mean he wanted to go back to New York. Or, if he wanted to be honest, he didn't know if he could. Didn't know how. Through the years, Steve got accustomed to being alone so much he didn't feel loneliness anymore. It just felt natural now; his old life seemed too distant, unattainable even. A tiny piece of him was still sad about it, but he tried to shut down that part every day.

Drawing always easily made him shut himself off the reality, but the approaching sounds of dead leaves crackling under someone's feet made him to look up. And soon, Steve saw as you came into view from behind the trees; hands deep in your pockets and a warm scarf around your face. It was a cold day, but the sight still amused him. He stuffed his sketchbook into his pocket, before stood up to walk closer to you.

"Already freezing?"

You stepped up to the porch, pulling your scarf down so he could hear you better. "It's just the wind," you said, the chilly air already biting your cheeks. "I thought—" you started, but the words stuck on your throat when you saw a huge dog with long, golden fur running towards you, barking excitedly. "Oh, your puppy!"

While you kneeled down to pet him, Steve couldn't hold back a smile at the fact you called his dog a puppy, who looked like a mix of a golden retriever and a cave bear. "He's adorable," you beamed, still scratching the spot behind his ears with both hands. He licked your face and almost made you fall off the porch, and though you only laughed, Steve stepped closer to pull him back.

"Okay, Thor, that's enough."

"Did I hear it right? His name's Thor?" you asked amused, wiping the dirt off your jeans while you stood up.

Steve leaned his shoulder against the wooden pillar. "I like Norse mythology." He was smiling, but it never fully reached his eyes. They were nice, cerulean blue, but his gaze was sad. "Can I help you with something, Y/N?"

"Oh, yes," you said, forgetting for a second why you came to Steve. "Remember when you said if I need anything I can come here? Well, I'm here to take the advantage."

"What can I do for you?"

Thor was still walking up and down around you, nudging your hand whenever you stopped petting his head. "I just wanted to go into the town, but my car died. You surely know more about cars than me, so…" you trailed off, and Steve nodded.

"I'm not an expert, but I can take a look at it," he said and leaned away from the pillar.

"Thank you so much," you sighed while you walked off the porch and into the woods, Thor running circles around the both of you. "You really keep saving my life. I can't believe I wanted to leave the house the first time in weeks and this happens! Sometimes I really feel like I'm cursed," the words blurted out of you, but you couldn't stop them. "Am I cursed?"

"I don't know, but don't thank me yet," Steve chuckled quietly. "And why haven't you left the house in weeks?"

You shrugged, fiddling with a loose strand of your scarf. "I was working on my book. It's really easy to lost track of time while I'm writing."

Steve could understand the feeling—he experienced it too, sometimes. "What is it about? The story you're working on."

"Well," you took a deep breath on, before slowly released it. "It's about a woman. She's a special agent, she's having this perfect life, you know, great career, husband, two kids. One day she wakes up and all of them disappear. She tries to find out what happened, where they are, but every trail leads to a dead end. So at the end of the novel, it turns out she's having some serious mental illnesses, she just imagined everything and she's living in an asylum," you stopped, looking up at Steve who listened with interest. "I'm sorry. I'm talking your ears off."

"No—it's fine," Steve assured, and it seemed like he truly liked your idea. "But you spoiled the ending. I'm not going to read it."

You laughed at his joking tone. "At this point I doubt if I could ever finish it, so you wouldn't have the chance anyway."

The insecurity behind your words caught Steve off guard. He wasn't sure what he expected—maybe some more confidence from a published author. "So isolation didn't help you?"

"No," you said slowly, disappointment dripping from your voice. "Not yet, at least. You know, I really thought it would help a lot if I came here, concentrating only on my book and nothing else, but the truth is I don't feel like myself anymore. I still feel like I'm stuck and I'll go crazy first before I could finish the book. How do you even do it? I'm only here for a few weeks but it's already driving me mad. I guess you have a job, right? It probably helps a lot. Not letting you to go without any routine. God, I'm talking too much again, I'm so sorry," you chuckled to yourself, burying your face into your palm. You hadn't talked to anyone in weeks—only on the phone.

Steve shook his head and smiled understandingly as soon approached your cabin. "Being alone isn't for everyone," he said as you stopped next to your rented car. "It brings out the best from some people and the worst from others."

"What it did to you?" you asked quietly.

Steve, again, gave you the smile that was so far from being honest. He took a deep breath before he said, "I'm not sure yet."

Before you could ask anything else, he turned to the car, and you knew this part of the conversation was over. While he tried to figure it out what was the problem with the car, you went back to the cabin to make some coffee. The fresh, bitter smell just started to fill the tiny kitchen when Steve came in; he'd tell you need a new serpentine belt.

You sighed, leaning against the counter. "I guess you don't have one."

"No," Steve nodded. "But I can take you to the town to buy one and I'll fix your car later."

"Would you really do that?"

He gave a small shrug. "I have nothing better to do today."

While you walked back to his place, you happily realized Steve was actually a very easy person to talk to—at least when it came to small talks about the weather, Colorado, or his dog. He told you a few things about Leadville in general. Assuming if it was about his past he wouldn't be so talkative, you didn't force the subject. For now, you were glad there was someone you could talk to.

He invited you in while he gave Thor some food and fresh water, and you took the time to look around in the house. It was smaller than where you stayed, cluttered, and it was easy to tell it wasn't just used for a holiday. He had a bookshelf so heavily packed with books you were surprised it didn't actually collapse under the weight, but he had books and notebooks seemingly everywhere around the house. You smiled, looking back at him over your shoulder as he walked up from the basement with some dog food. One of the shelves was only half-filled with books; next to them, there were several framed pictures. Two older people who you assumed were his parents stood the closest. Other photographs with him and his friends, in his early twenties by their looks. The frames were dusty, like he didn't even touch them in weeks, maybe months. At the back, you noticed a photo of a woman; it was only her. You stopped there, wondering who she might be, but when you heard Steve's footsteps behind your back, you quickly grabbed the first picture that your hand found, and turned to him.

"Wow," you said, holding up the picture and placing next to his head. "How old were you here? Eighteen?"

Steve chuckled; he knew you were only exaggerating. The photo of him with his friends was taken no more than six years ago, but his hair was shorter, his face shaved… and he was smiling. Not the polite smiles that he kept sending your way; it was genuine. He looked happy.

"Sorry," you said, placing back the picture on the shelf. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

"You didn't," Steve sounded honest, and his eyes were still on the picture, so you dared to ask,

"Who are they?"

He pointed at the man on his right: he has short black hair and the kind of smirk on his lips that you were almost sure nothing could wipe off. "He's Bucky. He has been my best friend as long as I can remember," he smiled, then pointed at the other man. He was laughing hard when the picture was taken. "Sam. He's a great friend of mine too. We used to work together."

You snapped your head up to look at him; his gaze was distant, and you weren't sure if you should ask. But curiosity won this time. "I guess not at the mill?"

Steve clenched his jaw but stood frozen for a second longer, before he turned to you. "No—it was before I moved here."

He spun around after his short answer and opened the door for you before you could ask anything else—not like you wanted to. It was easy to tell he didn't prefer to talk about his past, so you swallowed your curiousness and respected his decision. He was so damn mysterious, but not in the scary way. You wished he'd tell more about himself.

The first few minutes of your drive passed in silence; you listened music, admired the scenery through the window, and tried to warm your numbed fingers up. Besides, you weren't sure what you should talk about with him. He seemed like a private person, and you've already regretted the questions you asked in his home. Before you knew it, you were already in the town.

After you bought the necessary component for the car, Steve took you to the grocery shop too; it was a lot easier to go with him than trying to find everything by yourself in the little town. He led you to the public library too—it was small, smaller than you thought, but it wasn't that fact that bothered you. Almost every book that you lifted off the shelf was damaged; the covers shabby, pages ripped out. Some of them were only held together by some magic, probably.

"Holy shit," you muttered to yourself, holding the most tattered copy of Little Women you had ever seen. Steve was far from you so he couldn't hear your whispered words, but your features was enough to make him smile. "It's making me cry."

While you tried to find a book that caught your attention and didn't want to fall apart in the moment you put your hands on it, Steve found the one he was looking for. _After The Golden Hour_ was the title of the book—your book. The old, grumpy librarian looked up from her paperwork when Steve greeted her; an almost invisible smile danced on her lips. "Mr. Rogers."

He handed the book to her and waited, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked around—there was no sign of you yet.

"Mr. Rogers," the librarian said only after a few seconds of silence. "You already checked out ten books. That is the limit."

Steve tilted his head slightly, sighing. "Does one more really matter? I promise I'll bring one back tomorrow."

"It does matter," she shot an angry look at him. "And if you come tomorrow, you can take this one out."

Steve didn't argue—instead, he picked up the book to take it back to its shelf. At least that was what he said, but hid the copy under his coat when no one could see him, and left the building in hurry.

After a half an hour, you finally joined to Steve who waited for you in the car, looking through the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He took his coat off earlier and now he was only wearing a henley, definitely one size too small for him, making your eyes wander while you left the town.

"Anything good?" Steve asked, glancing at the small pile of books on your lap.

"Well," clearing your throat, you forced yourself to tear your gaze away from his arm. This was the first time you could have a better look at him, in your defence. "It was hard to find anything that didn't want to fall apart in the moment I touched it."

"They have a very impressive Stephen King collection, though."

"Yeah, I saw that," you frowned. "But considering I'm spending my nights alone in the middle of the woods, I'll rather stay away from his writings."

Steve shrugged. "I thought The Shining would be suitable for you."

The glance that you sent him from under your lashes painted a wide smile on his face—and finally, it was honest, just the way you saw him on these old pictures. He got a little chattier on the way back: he talked about his job at the mill, and he even let it slip that he moved here five years ago. When you asked where he was from, he told he was from Brooklyn, but the way his grip tightened around the wheel stopped you from any further questions.

"And what about you? Are you a full time writer or do you do something else for a living?" Steve asked mostly to change the subject, but he was curious as well; from what you've said about your published works, he doubted you could afford to rent a cabin in Colorado while you didn't make any money.

"I just quit before I came here," your voice noticeably dropped. "I was working at a teen magazine."

"Was it as bad as you make it sound?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Hmm," you nodded slowly, acting like you were thinking hard before you said, "Ten signs your crush actually likes you," you quoted. "Five hair tips that will change your life. Take the quiz and I'll tell you what kind of coffee you are," you shook your head and rolled your eyes, but hearing Steve genuinely laughing made you smile. "It was fun first, but it became really, truly exhausting. Everyone else there loved the job but me… I felt like if I had to make one more quiz I would throw myself out of the window."

Steve, for some inexplicable reason, enjoyed your company way more than he thought he would. He was never one for small talk; he had always preferred deeper conversations. While some people constantly felt the urge to say something even when it was clearly unnecessary, Steve only nodded or hummed to indicate he was still listening, but he relished the silence more. Five years of isolation, however, can easily change anyone. And while he was still rather silent at his workplace and never stayed for a chitchat with the shopkeeper, no matter how she always tried to talk with him, it was easier with you. He liked the way you thought, even if you only mentioned little nothings.

While you put away everything you bought from the grocery shop, Steve stayed outside to fix the car. You barely finished, mind still on trying to figure out what you should make for dinner, when you heard the front door open. You were surprised he finished so quickly, but couldn't stop saying thank you while he washed his hands.

"It's really nothing," he said after you thanked him for the fifth time in one minute.

"I owe you a lot," you insisted. After all, he accompanied you home when you got lost in the woods, he helped with your shopping, and even fixed your car without even thinking about getting anything in exchange.

"I know," Steve smiled, putting down the dish towel after he wiped his hands dry. "I'm keeping a list."

His joking tone surprised you—it was definitely something new. He surely noticed this by the look on your face. He made a step to walk out of the kitchen, but you called out after him, so he turned around. "Don't you want to stay for dinner? I could start to repay my debts," you smiled. "And my cooking skills are pleasantly mediocre."

"That's very tempting," Steve replied, bowing his head with a smile before he looked up again. "But I should really go home."

Knowing his words were final and it would have been pointless to push him, you didn't argue. Yet you watched him quietly for a second longer, hoping he would change his mind, but nodded after the silence became too long. "Okay."

"See you later?" you asked after you walked him out, standing at the door with your arms crossed over your chest against the cold wind. You tried to sound casual, not someone who really, truly hoped he would show up more, even though that was the truth.

"Sure," Steve looked back again, smiling. "I'm pretty sure I'll have to fix something soon again for you."

You snorted with laughter, not even trying to deny that you will probably need his help in the future.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though you didn't need Steve's help in the following weeks, you kept stumbling upon each other nearly every day. At first, the meetings were innocent accidents, as you'd met in places like the grocery shop, in the bookstore, or on the porch of your cabin while you were reading out there, and Steve walked nearby with his dog. Soon, not more than after a week, the coincidences became more frequent, until he showed up every day after work, or on his days off, but never without Thor. And you, wrapped in blankets, started to spend more time sitting outside in the hope you would meet him—while you kept telling yourself it was only because the fresh air helped you to think better.

Sometimes, he only stopped for quick small talk, before he already disappeared. It didn't take long to figure it out he was the best and the worst person to talk to, because while you honestly enjoyed his company, it was easy to trigger that little something in Steve that made him run.

"I read your book," he said a little nervously when you met in the grocery shop, a few days after he fixed your car. He lifted the first thing off the shelf that he reached: a tiny jar of baby food.

"Really?" you tried to sound not too excited, but failed miserably. The thought of Steve Rogers reading your book made you feel like you were on cloud nine, but a hint of fear crawled up on your spine too. "Did you like it?"

He nodded, a frown creasing his brows as he realized what he was grasping in his hand. "Yes, I did, very much," he said, placing back the tiny jar. "I was actually really surprised."

"I'm not sure if I should be honoured or offended," you said after a little pause, frowning.

"No," he released a breathy chuckle. "It surprised me how accurate your descriptions were about the crime scenes, the process of the investigation—"

"Oh," you cut him off with a relieved laugh. "My uncle was a detective. He used to tell me stories all the time when I was a kid. Very detailed ones, to my parents' dismay."

The conversation went on about your book, until you left the shop together and talked a little while at the parking lot. It started raining, and you tried to invite him over for lunch, but he refused your offer.

"Thank you, but I have to go to the library," he said as a poor excuse. "Before the librarian kills me."

"Why would she?"

Steve opened the door, resting his elbow on the car. "I borrowed your book."

"Isn't it what libraries are for?" a little confused, you smiled, wiping the raindrops off your cheek.

"That's what I said," he smiled amusedly, before saying goodbye to you.

There were days when he stayed sitting on your porch, talking about everything and nothing until it was dark and both of you started to freeze, but whenever you tried to invite him in, he left with some made-up excuse. After a few failed attempts, you stopped trying to lure him into your house for dinner, for a cup of coffee, or just to warm yourselves up. It seemed that being in someone else's home was outside of his comfort zone, just like he never talked about his life before Leadville.

For the lack of a better option, you let it go. While he was genuinely curious and asked a lot about your life, you didn't push him until he talked about himself of his own free will. Every so often you've tried – only cautiously, never in an overt way – but he merely gave you short answers, or none at all. You were not stupid; forcing him to talk would only scare him away, and you had better common sense than that. Besides, you enjoyed his company too much to make him run away.

* * *

Winter came early in Colorado. It was late October when the first snow had already fallen, and a couple weeks later everything was covered in a thick, white layer. It cracked under your feet as you stepped onto the porch, before sweeping it off and leaning the broom against the wall.

The huge logs were piled up at the back of the cabin under a terrace to protect them from the rain and the snow. You'd seen weeks ago it was only a matter of time until you'd run out of firewood—but you procrastinated to chop some more until you used all of them.

Even though you'd never chopped a wood before, you doubted it would be such a hard task. Yet, it seemed smarter to start with something easier; so you reached for a smaller log and placed it on a stump. The axe lied atop an old, dingy wooden table, next to the other tools.

"Shit," you muttered, after – even though you gave all of your strength into the swing – it stuck halfway down on the log. You pushed down hard on the handle, trying to force the log to split, swearing under your breath in the process, before it finally fell apart.

The next hits weren't any better: the axe kept stuck in the logs, or missed the target entirely. Fearing next time you'd chop your own feet off, you stepped back for a second, watching the miserably tiny pile of logs you'd created so far. You laughed at yourself, remembering how you thought it couldn't be that hard.

This is how Steve found you: panting, cursing, while your axe was stuck in the log. Judging by the amused look on his face, he had seen way more than you'd like him to of your little show, before he finally spoke up so you could notice his presence.

"I would never have thought you can swear like that," he walked closer, stopping close to you. "I thought it was swear like a sailor, not like a writer."

With a half-hearted laugh, you forced the log to split again, trying not to seem completely ashamed while you were clearly embarrassing yourself in front of a professional lumberjack. "Haven't you heard? We've claimed that title a long time ago."

Steve watched as you lined up a log again. "Can I help you?"

"No, thank you," you wiped a loose strand of hair out of your face, before swinging the axe—and again, it stuck in the middle. "I got this."

Steve stepped back and leaned against the cabin, watching as you set the wood on the frosty ground, stood on it with one leg, trying to wiggle the axe loose. He really, truly wanted to help, but watching you stubbornly struggling with it was something he wouldn't want to miss. At last, you finally pulled the tool free, looking at him with a satisfied smile.

"See? I got this."

He shook his head. "You're going to hurt yourself. Let me do it."

"You don't have to," you said firmly. "I want to do this."

While he didn't like the idea and stayed within arm's reach, he stopped trying to convince you. "At least can I give you some advice?"

You nodded, admitting that some advice definitely wouldn't hurt, seeing your previous success. Steve leaned closer, trying to wipe the amused smile off his face.

"You're holding it wrong. Try this," his voice low, showing the places where you should put your hands. "And here. Further up," he placed his hands over yours, guiding it to the right spot. The shiver that ran down on your spine had nothing to do with the chilly air; it was his warm touch on your cold skin. Steve stepped back again. "Swing with your whole upper body. If you only use your arms, you're seriously going to hurt them."

Judging by the constant, blunt pain in your upper arms that already happened— but you rather not mentioned. You took a deep breath and swung the axe, just the way Steve had told you: and this time, the wood slit cleanly in two halves.

He stayed there and watched as you chopped the logs sometimes successfully, sometimes with struggles. While he talked about his previous days at the mill, he never stopped giving you instructions here and there, or trying to offer his help that you kept rejecting. He helped you so much already—you didn't want to take the advantage of his benevolence.

"Y/N, let me help you," he stepped closer once you clearly started to get exhausted. He couldn't stifle a smile. "It's painful to watch."

"Thank you," you said sarcastically. "Did you come here to mock at me?" you threw two pieces of wood into the growing pile, before looked at Steve. "Really, why did you come?"

"I was just," the words stuck on his throat, unable to find an excuse. Usually, he could blame his dog for wandering too far away, but now, he was here alone. When he left his house this morning, his feet naturally brought him to your cabin, and before he was aware, he already reached the place where he could hear the noise of axe splitting wood, mixed with your curses. He wasn't sure why he felt he needed an excuse to find a way to talk to you—you were both adults, living alone. Why it was so hard to say I just wanted to see you? He felt himself like an idiot. "I was just walking nearby and I thought I would visit you."

You hummed quietly—he sounded exactly like when he came up with his poor excuses about why he can't stay. Except, this time, it was the other way around: he was trying to find a reason why he came here. Maybe you made him feel like there should be a reason, but you didn't want to; you were always glad to see him. It was so unnecessary to keep searching for explanations when clearly, both of you just wanted to spend some time together.

You swung the axe again and your palms slipped on the handle, making you hiss up with pain; your grip weakened, and it stuck halfway in again. This time, Steve didn't ask, but took the axe from your hand and told you to get some rest. As you weren't accustomed to physical work, the skin on your palms were aching, burning with pain, while your arms were weak and shaky. You stopped arguing with him.

Steve stuck the axe into the chopping block before he took his coat off, leaving him only in a thin, black sweater. While he picked up a log and lined it up, you sat down on a stump with his coat on your lap. Until you were sitting there, you haven't even realized how tired your legs were—God, you were truly in a terrible shape.

And as you sat there, trying to catch your breath, watching Steve swinging the axe, you had no idea why haven't you let him to do it earlier. The way his muscles in his back and arms flexed when he lifted the axe was a delicious sight for sore eyes. Catching yourself wishing it was summer so he could be shirtless, you hid your smiling lips behind your hand. It still wasn't enough to stop the flush on your cheeks by the thought, but thankfully, Steve's eyes were on the task.

"Have you written anything today?" he asked suddenly, making you jolt a little.

Steve turned to you as you didn't answer, and as your eyes met his, you hoped he didn't notice how intensely you stared him in the past minutes. "Sorry?" you asked back, his question long forgotten while you tried to focus again. Steve repeated what he asked earlier, before split a log in half again. "Oh. Well, no. But I've wrote around 500 words yesterday."

"That sounds good."

"That sounds miserable," you groaned.

There it was again, Steve thought, the insecurity that shifted your tone, and that he never quite understood—especially since he read your book. He enjoyed your writing, he thought you were talented, but sometimes he felt you didn't think the same of yourself. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if it's too personal," he turned to you again, resting the axe against the chopping block. You gave him a reassuring nod. "Why are you still here? You said you came here because you thought it would help with your writer's block, but it's been a month now."

That was a question you kept asking yourself nearly every day lately, and while the truth fumbled at the back of your head, you weren't sure you wanted to tell to Steve—or just admit to yourself. "I feel like if I went home, it wouldn't get any better than this," you said, draping Steve's coat around your shoulders as the cool breeze made you shiver now. The sight of you in his clothes warmed him. "And I don't want to give up so easily."

Steve nodded with a smile, and – to your delight – rolled his sleeves up tight past his elbows as he turned back to the stump to lift up the axe again. "You shouldn't! I really want to read that book."

His excited tone made you grin, but it was half-hidden behind your hand, elbows resting on your knees. Steve continued chopping the wood, and when he split a relatively large log in half, a groan escaped him, making you mutter under your breath, "Fuck me."

"Sorry? I didn't catch that," Steve turned to you, and you were glad the sound of metal meeting wood muffled your words.

"Nothing—I was just thinking out loud," you released a long, slow breath, before quickly said the first thing that came into your mind. "And, you know, I'm very easily distracted. It was snowing yesterday and I've been watching it for thirty minutes instead of writing. Don't laugh at me," you added as Steve chuckled. He split two other logs in half, before put down the axe and sat down next to you on a stump.

"I have a suggestion."

"Yes?"

"You always say your biggest problem is you're easily distracted," he started, remembering you'd mentioned it many times before. "How about I come over sometimes and making sure you're not doing anything else instead of writing?"

At first, you couldn't even breathe from the surprise, merely muttering incoherent nothings under your breath. "Are you—are you sure that's a good idea?" finally you said, pulling yourself together.

Steve gave a light shrug. "Well, I'm not sure, but it's worth a shot."

Silence settled between you again, as you were still awestruck—how many times you have tried to invite him over, and now he offered it by himself? Nevertheless, you were happy he did, but your long pause made him wonder; maybe he shouldn't have said anything, after all.

"It was just an idea, you don't have to—"

"No!" you cut him off hastily. "I'm just sure you have better thing to do than babysit me."

Steve scrunched his nose, before he smiled. "Actually, not really. When I'm not working, I mean," he waited for your answer quietly. "I promise I won't do anything distracting."

"Huh," you bit your lower lip to hide a smile. Steve himself was the distraction, even if he wasn't doing anything. "Well, we can try."

A day later, just as he promised, Steve knocked on the door early in the afternoon. The mere thought of being with him again kept your mind busy and made you giddy all morning; sitting down to write didn't even cross your mind. Instead of, you baked some brownies and cleaned up the cabin—at least as much as your aching muscles let you, because your arms still hurt from yesterday.

Steve brushed the snowflakes off his coat before he stepped inside, pulling his hat off that made his dark blond locks stick up in every direction. He combed his hair back with his fingers while you walked deeper into the house. If Bucky was there, he would laugh his head off, and Steve wouldn't even blame him. He felt sixteen again for being so nervous, but he couldn't help it. It had been a long time since he was in someone else's home—of course it was scary. Not exactly because he was in your house, but because it felt like another step on the way that led him closer to you. Because, undoubtedly, he was getting a little closer to you every day, and he still wasn't sure if it was good or bad for him, and, more importantly, for you.

He was glad you talked a lot because it calmed him, distracted his thoughts of his own worries. After a cup of coffee, some brownies and a lot of talk, his worries were mostly forgotten. How much you affected him, he didn't even realize.

"It's strange," you smiled at Steve who sat across you at the small, round table, next to the window. The laptop opened in front of you; right hand resting on the notebook where you scribbled down your notes. "I feel like I'm in detention."

"You got a lot of those?"

"A few," you shrugged. "What about you?"

Steve couldn't stifle a smile as the memories filled his mind about all those extra hours he had to spend in school after Bucky dragged him into something he thought would be fun. "Yeah. A few."

To you, Steve seemed too prim to be a troublemaker, now or twenty years ago, but the thought of it was definitely amusing. Maybe he used to be a completely different person—people can change a lot even over a year. He opened the book he brought with himself, before you said after a little pause, "I'd love to hear those stories."

"I bet you would," he pointed at your laptop. "But you have to write."

Lips pouted but eyes smiling, you said, "You are no fun, Steve Rogers."

He leaned back against the chair and put the book down. "I came here to prevent you to be distracted, but now you're the one who distracts me."

"This is how it goes when you're a writer," you laughed. "It becomes a second nature."

He smiled, shaking his head. It took another few minutes before you both finally settled down; Steve reading his book, and you, surprisingly, writing.

For long hours, the only sound that broke the silence was the quiet tapping of the keys on the keyboard. Pen scratching against paper, heavy sighs, the quiet but sharp sound of turning pages. The whistling wind, shaking the trees. Steve clearing his throat loudly to pull you back from your thoughts when you were staring through the window for too long. His thumb tapping on the back of your hand when you didn't hear him.

"I was just—"

"I don't care about your excuses."

His firm tone surprised you, but a smile hid at the left corner of his lips. "Now I really feel like I'm on detention."

His smile widened, but didn't say a word before returned to his sketchbook. Soon, his expressions hardened, brows furrowed in concentration as the pen moved against the paper in short, quick motions. You haven't realized when he stopped reading and started scribbling; it seemed you were too lost in your own words. Steve didn't notice that you were watching him with your chin resting on your palm (otherwise he would have told you to stop staring him and start to write). You leaned closer above the table, taking a peek of his doodles. Except they were not doodles—they weren't anything you thought they would be. Even from upside down, his sketches made your jaw drop.

"Steve! You can draw?!"

A sigh passed his lips as he looked at you. "It's nothing," he said after a pause, but you rolled your eyes, asking if you can see it. He nodded, a little reluctantly, pushing the sketchbook closer to you.

Watching his creations left you in awe. His sketches of people were simple, but his style made it compelling. Other works, like buildings were so detailed you could have watch them for hours. "You're crazy talented," you whispered, turning a page. "Where did you learn to draw like this?"

It was a question Steve wanted to avoid answering; not because it was a secret, or something he wouldn't want to tell you, but because he knew it would only create more questions, drifting him into a situation he wasn't sure he could handle. He bowed his head, eyes on the pen he was gripping in his hand. No, he wasn't sure he could talk about certain things to you—or to anyone in general. When he looked up again, you were still watching his drawings with such a genuine smile on your lips and a happy twinkle in your eyes that it helped to made up his mind quickly.

"I went to an art school for a year."

"Oh, and why did they kick you out?" you asked, only half-jokingly, eyes never leaving the papers.

Steve laughed. "This is the first thing that crossed your mind?"

Finally lifting your head, you gave a small shrug. "Obviously you didn't fail, did you? I don't think you just left. You don't seem like a quitter and you're incredibly skilled."

Steve shook his head. "I left by myself," then, seeing your frown, he answered the question he knew you wanted to ask. "I think I always wanted to do something else."

While your features went even more confused, your words sounded amused. "Chopping wood?"

"No," Steve chuckled weakly. "Not that."

"Then what happened?" his silence became too long after your question. "Oh, come on, Steve! I've told so much about myself and I barely know anything about you. What did you do before you came here?"

And there it was, Steve thought with a slight pang in his chest, the series of questions he expected but tried to avoid. Slowly, but surely it was getting too much; he wanted to stand up and leave, and he wasn't sure what made him to say the words out loud. "I worked at the NYPD."

"No way," Steve made your jaw drop second time that day. Many things crossed your mind since you've first met, trying to figure it out what he was doing before Leadville and how did he end up here. But, of all things, you would have never thought he was a cop. "So you were a police officer?"

"Captain."

"You're joking," you almost screamed, sinking back into the chair while you did a quick math in your head. "Weren't you too young for that?"

Steve extended his arms with a smile, which, again, didn't reach his eyes. "I was the best."

"And the most humble too," you leaned closer again, resting your arms upon the table. The same joke almost slipped out about why did they kick him out, but you halted in the last second. There must be something more behind it and the thought made your skin crawl. Smile fading, voice dropping, you asked, "What happened?"

Steve rested his elbows on the table, running his fingers through his beard as he stared into nothing. He had never talked about this to anyone before—people who knew they knew because they were there, or heard the story from someone else. However, the way he tried to collect his thoughts made him realize he wanted to tell; to you, and not anyone else. But he couldn't find the right words. How is he supposed to tell the story that permanently broke his heart? Get to the point? Start at the beginning?

While he could easily keep his face blank, his eyes screamed all the emotions that swirled inside him. And as he looked at you, for a brief second, the sorrow made you feel smothered.

"We'd been trying to track a group of arm dealers down for months," he started, staring the table. "Unsuccessfully. They had a wide, well organized network. And they were very dangerous. Always slipped out of our hands."

"Steve," you said quietly when he stopped, understanding it was something too heavy to talk about. You grasped his hand, half-expecting he will pull away, but he didn't. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He shook his head, his thumb slowly running across your skin while he watched your hand in his. When he looked up again, you didn't find the sadness in his eyes anymore—maybe a tiny piece of it, like a distant memory. "After months and months of failure, my unit and I would have done anything for even the tiniest crumb of information. And one day we finally got it. A lead. No more than a rumour but it was more than we had before. I didn't get the permission to investigate. And I was stupid enough to ignore that."

"My—"he started after a pause, only to stop again. "I didn't want to waste time and let them run again. So I went there with some of my people," he shook his head, and you felt his hand tightening around yours. "There were too many of them. It was a lost cause from the start," his hand slowly slipped away as he leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Many of my people got injured that day. Remember Bucky? You saw a picture of him. He lost a hand. And Peggy—she—" Steve's voice trembled, and you knew he reached the bottom. "She died. She wasn't even in my unit at the time. She was—she used to be my partner," he stared down again and you couldn't see his eyes, but his voice drenched with pain that he tried to swallow back.

"I'm so sorry," the words seemed so insignificant after you'd said them out loud, but truthfully, you couldn't think of anything else to say after he told you the story. Listening what happened was enough to bring tears into your eyes, but it was the pain in his voice that made it so heartbreaking to hear. Steve looked up at your quiet, hoarse voice; he nodded, inhaled deeply, before let out a long, shaky breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pulled this out of you."

"You didn't. It's fine. I just…" he trailed off, so you finished for him,

"You just haven't talked about this for a while, have you?"

Never, Steve thought as he took a sip from the tea that already went cold, tapping his index finger against the mug. "Not really."

"Peggy," you started slowly, watching as Steve's eyes shot up at the name, "She was the woman from the picture on your shelf?"

Steve could only nod, finding hard again to say anything out loud.

"She was more than a partner, wasn't she?"

"She was my fiancée."

The silence became heavy in the room and you have no idea what you should say, if you should say anything. You felt everything would sound inappropriate. He lost too much. "I can't even imagine—I'm very sorry, Steve."

"It was my fault," he said bitterly, and you understood it wasn't only the grief that drove him away from his old life; it was the guilt.

"Steve? It isn't—"

"Please, don't," he cut you off, gripping the arms of the chair. "I've heard this many times before, and I don't… I—" he looked away from you, shaking his head, before stood up. "It's better if I leave."

"Wait, don't," you followed him and grasped his forearm. He stopped, didn't try to pull his arm away, but stared his feet. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. And I promise I won't say a word. But if you want to stay, please, don't leave."

There were million things you wanted to say, but above all, you didn't want to chase him away. Since the first time you've met him, you couldn't understand one thing: how is it possible he wasn't lonely? Because – even though the way he lived his life seemed solitary – Steve never made it sound like he felt alone. But now, you understood how lonely he was. Maybe more than he would care to admit. Maybe more than he realized.

He lifted his gaze to you; eyes soft, vulnerable. He didn't say anything and you stepped closer to hug him; he stiffened. Had it been so long since someone hugged him so gently he forgot how to react?

"I'm sorry," you said, pulling away as you felt how his body reacted, but Steve hugged you back. And he stayed.


	4. Chapter 4

More than a week passed without seeing Steve. After he told you about his past and you asked him to stay, he did, but neither of you said anything for the rest of the afternoon. He slowly slipped out of your hug and sat back on the chair, without a word, teary blue eyes wandering around the room but always finding their way back to yours. You wanted to say something comforting, but words seemed too empty and meaningless, even in your head, that you decided to keep them instead.

For long minutes, all you exchanged were weak, reassuring smiles. The silence was nearly unbearable first; you wanted to break it with every passing second, but fought down the urge to do so. Steve was the kind of man who rarely to never let others to see him falling apart, but the little shifts in his features told you how much he was suffering inside. Maybe because his old wounds started to bleed again from diving into painful memories, maybe because opening up to someone was something so new and so scary he didn't know how to handle it yet. In any case, it didn't seem smart to push him into talking more, if he didn't want to.

The awkward silence turned into something more comfortable soon. If he was just sitting across from you staring into nothing, maybe he would have to get up soon to leave, but both of you had something to distract your thoughts. While you started to write, he was sketching again, and even though your mind wasn't exactly there, it helped to ease the tension. Staying together even if you didn't talk was more comforting than being alone.

It was late afternoon when Steve left, already dark and snowing heavily. You walked him out and after he said thank you (though you weren't sure what for, he inhaled deeply and stepped forward, maybe to give you a hug, but turned around and left before you could think much about it.

You didn't try to contact him in the next few days. The things he talked about were heavy, emotionally exhausting, and you wanted to give him some time alone. Steve would visit you if he was ready to meet you again, but as more and more days passed, you weren't so sure about it anymore. Sharing something so personal with you maybe was too much for him. Perhaps you crossed a line, and now you were genuinely worried he never wanted to see you again.

Until you ran into each other in the town.

A thick blanket of snow covered the streets by mid-November. It cracked loudly under your boots where the sidewalks weren't cleaned up. It was an early Saturday morning, and the sound of the wind whistling through the trees swallowed every other noise in the little town. Weekend mornings here weren't just quiet; they were strangely silent and deserted for someone from a big city. Cars passing here and there slowly through the snow covered roads. An old couple walking down on the street arm in arm, seemingly without any goal. A man on his bike, trying to fight his way down on the icy street without falling over. A bell ringing as people walked in and out of the bakery.

It wasn't hard to recognize Steve as he walked down the street; his tall figure, his broad shoulders, his dark blond locks messy from the cold breeze. He smiled when he saw you and you gave him a small hug when you reached him—you couldn't help it, you've missed him more than you thought you would.

Once again, it was you who talked more and he listened, but he never made you feel like he didn't care. After you told him you had to bring the car to the service but promised the shopkeeper you will check in later (they were only open until noon), you stifled a yawn. "… so now I have some free hours. Is there anything that's worth seeing?"

"Nothing that you haven't seen yet," Steve said, a light frown creasing his brows. "Why didn't you come to me first? I could've checked your car."

"I didn't want to bother you again," you waved, shaking your head. It wasn't exactly true though—you simply weren't sure he wanted to see you just yet, or anymore. You couldn't even try to swallow the next yawn, but it ended with a weak laugh. "Sorry. I haven't slept at all. I was reading a book all night."

"Do you need a ride home? You could sleep a little and I would bring you back later."

"No," you shook your head again. "I probably just need another coffee and I should be fine."

Steve nodded, falling silent before he shifted his weight from one leg to another. "Do you want to… There's a great coffee shop if you want to try it," he looked over his shoulder, then back at you. "I mean, with me."

You couldn't hide a chuckle and at this point, and you were not sure if he was blushing or it was the cold wind that bit his cheeks. "I'd love to," you said quickly, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already felt. It was adorable how this grown up, handsome man got flustered so easily.

The coffee shop was small, modern but cozy. Just like the other parts of the town, this place wasn't crowded either, though there was definitely more people inside then out on the streets. Low music, chattering and clinking of cutlery filled the room, but it was still silent enough to hold a conversation. After you ordered your drinks, you chose a small table by the window, just enough for two people.

Sometimes we all feel everyone is watching us even if it's most definitely not true, but you couldn't shake off the feeling from the second you stepped inside the coffee shop. The young barista didn't even try to hide the curious smile of her lips, her supervisor who stayed on her heels but still took a moment to shoot a surprised glance at your direction. The woman who cleaned a table with one hand but her eyes darted between you and Steve, the man who just walked out of the shop as you took a seat, but watched the two of you with raised eyebrows.

"Steve?" you asked, shrugging out of your coat and leaning closer to him above the table. "Is it so surprising to see a new face around here, or why is everyone looking at me like I came from another planet?"

Steve, knowing the answer very well for the question he hoped you wouldn't ask, smiled while a sigh passed his lips. He rolled his sleeves up before leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms. "I come here nearly every day. I think they just didn't picture seeing me with someone else."

A small hum was your only answer, remembering again how alone he was. While you knew there was nothing wrong being alone from time to time, spending years like this, far away from friends and isolated from the idea of building new relationships, it seemed painfully lonely. It had to be, and you still had no idea how he didn't break under the weight of it. Had he never missed his friends? His old life? Or was he always like this, distant and careful? You had still a million questions, but couldn't bring yourself to ask them.

"Any progress with your book?" Steve broke the short silence, and quickly went on as you groaned in answer. "I know, I know you hate this question," he laughed. "But I'm just trying to help."

"You know, I actually made a great progress when you were with me," you said, and saw as surprise sat on his face. "But since then… well, let's just say I'm trying."

Steve watched you for a while silently as you rested your chin on your palm, looking around the coffee shop. He can practically see how easily your mind wandered, and he understood what you meant when you said it wasn't hard to distract you. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, drawing your attention back at him. It would have been enough to shift a little closer to kiss him, and you couldn't help but glance down on his lips. The thought alone sent a wave of heat rushing through your veins.

"Why are you still here?" he asked suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice was quieter and deeper than usual. "I know I've already asked this, and you said you didn't want to give up, but I feel you weren't completely honest."

The waitress just arrived with your orders so you both leaned back, letting her to place down the cups, and you were glad you could ignore to answer Steve's question a little longer. How could you explain it to him? You couldn't even explain it to yourself.

"Steve, it's complicated."

"Maybe you could help me to understand," he smiled, but didn't push you further.

After you took a small sip from the hot drink, you placed the cup down on the table and drew out a long breath. Steve's eyes fell on your hand as it couldn't stop fiddling with the napkin and he smiled, leaning closer again. "It's okay if you don't want to tell."

"I just don't know how," you crumpled the napkin, before looking up at him with a sigh. "I never wanted to be a writer. I've just always loved to write. This was pretty much the only thing I've always loved to do, since I was a child, but I've never thought about making money from it. Or even to show my writings to anyone. But when I did, and I saw how much people liked them, I wondered… why not? Maybe I could do something from it. There have always been struggles, but I loved it. I think if you really love something you learn to love the problems too, because you know you'll get through it and you know they're necessary to reach your goals. But lately," you stopped for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. "Lately I just couldn't find motivation for anything. Everything just put an extra weight on my shoulders. I just wanted to find something that I genuinely enjoy doing, and don't misunderstand me because I love to write, but sometimes it's just a lot of stress. My first book just has been published and some of my friends already asked when the next will come out! I know it shouldn't bother me so much, but I worked on my first novel for years."

"So you didn't come here to focus on your book?" Steve asked quietly after you stopped. What you've said so far explained a lot, but he still couldn't see the full picture.

"No, I did. I really believed that if I was alone I could work better. Everyone kept badgering me all the time. The publisher, my co-workers, some of my readers, but even my friends and family. I just thought a little loneliness could give me the solace I need."

"But it didn't," he stated, not asked, like he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Not really. Still more helpful than writing about teen girl's crushes for the hundredth time."

Steve chuckled, and ignored that you still left open the question he asked in the first place. "I don't know, the coffee quiz still seem great."

"It was actually very popular," you rolled your eyes with a smile, stirring the coffee before took a sip.

"I have to find it."

"Oh, you don't need to. The creator is just right here," you smiled. "Besides, you don't need to answer a single question, I know the answer anyway."

"Oh, really? And what would that be?"

"Espresso," you said with ease. "You're hot, strong… and sometimes a little boring."

As you kept your tone playful, he smiled too, which turned into a small laugh quickly. "So that's what you think of me?"

Slowly sipping your coffee, you nodded, before putting the cup down and leaned closer again, placing a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean it as an insult," you chuckled. "You're not boring. You're just… very closed. About everything. Why would I spend so much time with you if I found you so boring?"

"Because I'm the only person who lives near to you," he said. "And you love my dog."

You swatted his arm gently, letting out a small laugh. "You know it's not true," you said, though you knew he was only joking. "I like to be with you."

"I like to be with you too," Steve said with a sweet smile.

* * *

Hours passed like minutes while you were talking with Steve and by the time you remembered you should get the car, it was long past noon. It stopped snowing when you stepped out onto the streets—still quiet, though there were more people walking around than when you entered the coffee shop. After you glanced at your watch, you hid a yawn behind the back of your hand; as it turned out, the caffeine didn't help much on your sleep deprivation.

"I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot," you shook your head, stuffing your hands deeper in your pockets since you left your gloves in the car. As you didn't have a car now, Steve offered to take you home and bring you back for it when they opened the next day. "At this point I can't even count how many times you've helped me. How could I ever repay you?"

Steve smiled. "Well, I told you I'm keeping a list. I'm sure we can figure something out."

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his upper arm, and didn't slow your steps down while you slid your hand along a windowpane, gathering snow into a ball and throwing at his chest.

Steve halted, looking at you with a light smile while you couldn't stop laughing at his expression. "Do you really want to get into this fight with me?" he asked, wiping the snow off his coat.

Hiding your freezing hands back into your pockets, you gave a small shrug, swallowing back a chuckle. "I don't know, Steve, do you? My neighbour has three kids. I've had a lot of practice."

"Alright," his answer was quiet and he nodded his head, and just when you thought he would just walk away, Steve leaned down to make a snowball, before threw it at you. You leaned away with no success, and while you crouched down to ball the snow in your palms, he hit you twice.

"Hey, it's not fair!" you shouted while threw the snowball at him, but he easily leaned away from its path.

It went on for long minutes whilst you were running up and down the sidewalk, trying to avoid the people who crossed the street. You were out of breath, fingers numbed from the icy cold; Steve's cheeks flushed pink, his hair a mess. Large flakes of snow started falling slowly and softly again. While you tried to run across the snow covered road, you slipped on the ice, lost your balance, and landed on your back. It happened so suddenly that all the air left your lungs and you huffed out a breath, but the soft, fresh snow broke the fall. While Steve hurried closer and crouched down, you already pushed yourself up on your elbows.

Worry deepened his voice and darkened his light blue eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

Steve kept a hand on your back and an arm around your waist while he helped to sit up, carefully, asking if you hit your head or if your back was aching. He acted like you just suffered the worst injury of your life, while clearly, you were completely unharmed.

"Steve, I'm okay," you reassured him once more with a smile, before you reached behind his back to pick up the hat that fell off your head when you slipped on the ice. But you didn't take it on, and while he was still too busy searching your face for even the tiniest flinch, a sign of a sore muscle or bone, you smeared a handful of snow across his cheeks.

He wiped it off his face, watching you with an 'I can't believe you did this' – look in his half-opened eyes.

"There's some snow on your eyelashes," you breathed out between laughs, wiping the melting flakes away from his eyelids. Before you could've finished, he grabbed your wrist and the next thing you felt was the cold snow all over your face; some of it sliding down on your neck where your scarf loosened. Your squeals and screams were mixed with both of your laughs while you tried to push his hands away. Steve stopped, making sure you were okay before easily pulled you up on your feet, keeping his arms around you. He didn't realize you had a hand full of snow before it landed on his face.

Time went by too fast while you were playing with Steve in the snowy streets like children. The snow that melted in your hair and beneath your clothes made you to shiver, something that you only realized once you stopped to catch your breath.

"Is it okay if we stop by my place first?" Steve asked once you were in his car. "If Thor dioesn't get food in time he will open every drawer and eat whatever he finds."

"Of course," you said while you took off your scarf and your coat; the melted snow soaked most of your clothes. When you leaned as close to the heater as you could, Steve's hand came to rub circles on your back, trying to warm you up a little.

When you were finally in his house, still shaking with cold, Steve led you to his bedroom, giving you a sweater and a sweatpants before he left you alone to change. You quickly shrugged off your wet clothes and while you dried your locks with a towel, you took your time to look around. A big bed filled most of the room, but there was enough space for a long table right under the window. Papers, notebooks, pencils, knives and other crafting tools you had never seen before were scattered around it. His desk looked like he always worked on something. A small pile of books on his nightstand. Some vinyl in a box pushed next to his bed, but you didn't see a record player. His clothes were clearly took big for you, but at least they were dry and warm and smelled like him.

Steve was in the kitchen, washing his hands when you walked in. While you were in his room he changed his clothes too, for an unbuttoned red and blue plaid shirt with a white t-shirt beneath. He couldn't hide a smile when his gaze shifted to you; how sweet you looked in his clothes with your hair still damp and fuzzy. It was a sight he would love to see every day, he realized, and the thought made him to smile even more.

"What is it?" you put a strand of hair behind your ear, starting to feel a little embarrassed under his stare.

"Nothing," Steve cleared his throat. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?"

Cooking with Steve was fun. It didn't look like he needed any help, but he made you to taste everything and asked you how you'd like it better. He opened a bottle of wine that Bucky left there at some point, but he didn't have actual wine glasses so you drank from mugs. It had been a while since you and Steve had anything alcoholic, so it didn't take long to feel warm and loose.

Steve didn't seem drunk or even tipsy, but his cheeks were more than a little flushed by the time you reached the end of the bottle, and he talked. A lot. Long after you finished eating and washed the dishes together, you stayed sitting by the table. He shared funny stories from his past and made you laugh until your stomach hurt. It worked well the other way around too; this was the first time you saw him smiling and laughing so much since you knew him.

The sun went down a while ago and the only light in the room was a small lamp near the table. Thor dozed off at your feet, and you felt you could easily fall asleep, too. When you both became quieter, Steve told you how being alone helped him to get better – and how it didn't. You didn't ask; he was telling you everything by himself. He talked about his friends and how they used to visit him every week in the first few months, trying to convince him to come home.

"Go home, Y/N," Steve said after you were both silent for a while and you looked up at him; he had a sad smile on his lips.

"Am I such a bad company?"

"No," he chuckled and leaned closer above the table. "You know you are not, and I love that you're here. But it's not okay. Being alone for so long is not okay. I know why you came here, and why you're still here, and it's not because of your book. You've had enough and you wanted some time alone. But running away is not a solution."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "I can't believe you're the one who's saying this to me."

"Just because I do this too it doesn't mean it's the right thing," Steve said, his tone more serious now. "I wanted to leave, yes, I wanted to be alone, but it's been more than five years now."

Steve slowly ran his hand down his beard and stared at the table, while you leaned back against the chair, fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater. He never talked so openly about his feelings, and though you knew he was lonely (because who wouldn't be), you started to think he got used to it enough to never leave.

"Steve," your voice was quiet and he slowly looked up. "If you don't want to be here anymore, why don't you just go home?"

He shook his head. "That's not so easy," he stopped for a few seconds, watching you silently before he went on. "That's what I'm telling you. Spend too much time alone and your mind start going places it shouldn't. First you think it's good, being alone, because you don't have to deal with other people and their bullshit. You become lonely, and loneliness is addictive. Everything is easier when it's only you. It's a peaceful place you don't want to leave. Only when you've had enough of your own bullshit, when you want some time away from your own mind, you just can't find the way out of the solitude you built up around yourself."

It hurt to realize he was right, because you already felt the disadvantages, even though you hadn't been there nearly as long as Steve. But it hurt even more to hear his words and understand how trapped he felt, and how he'd completely given up on trying to fight against it.

You were quiet for so long it was Steve again who broke the silence. "Just don't make the same mistake that I did. Go home before it isn't too late."

"Steve," you said gently and leaned closer, taking his hand into yours. "It isn't too late. From what you've told, you have amazing friends and I'm sure they would be more than happy if you could go home. You also have me," you said with tilted head and a broad smile that made him chuckle quietly. "Just let me know how can I help and I will. It isn't too late for you."

Steve nodded, though he was surprised how easily he believed everything you just told him. "Maybe… maybe you're right," he said, because even if your words sounded promising and he felt more than a little flicker of hope, it couldn't just wipe out years of despair.

You slipped closer with the chair and hugged him. It wasn't like the first time when he tensed first, not even like when you hugged him earlier today; he wrapped his arms around you and melted against you immediately. When he pulled back, he left his arm resting on the back of your chair, and smiled. "Thank you."

"See? What would you do if I left?" you asked jokingly.

"Honestly, I don't know."

You laughed at his tone and pressed a kiss on his cheek as you stood up from the chair. "It's late. I should go home."

Steve followed you after a few moments of hesitation, his skin burning where your lips touched it. "Are you sure? I mean, don't you want to stay for a movie?"

He didn't need to ask you twice to convince you. "How about we watch your favourite movie?" you plopped down on the couch and draped a blanket over your shoulder, while he turned the TV on.

You would have never thought he could smile so smugly the way he did after your words. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why, what's your favourite movie?"

Steve laughed quietly as he sat down next to you. "The Fifth Element."

"Oh my God," you laughed loudly. "I can't even—is that really your favourite movie or are you just trying to punish me for something?"

"It is my favourite," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Obviously not because it's perfect, but it's fun."

You shook your head. "I just thought you'd say something like… I don't know, Saving Private Ryan or Field of Dreams…"

Steve gasped. "Can we watch the Field of Dreams?"

"No."

The opening credits just started and you were still smiling so Steve turned to you, "At least good to know I can surprise you. Maybe I'm not so boring after all."

"Yeah, be careful," you rolled your eyes. "Maybe you're not an espresso but an Americano."

You warned him you will probably fall asleep, but you didn't think you would so quickly: not even a half an hour passed and you already found it hard to keep your eyes open. As the time went on you shifted closer and closer to Steve, until you leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulled you closer, and lowered the volume on the TV. He kept glancing at your direction for a few seconds from time to time, until he watched you for long minutes without looking away. It was so strange to be so close to someone, in every way, he almost forget what it felt like. With you, it was exciting and comforting. He wished he could keep you close.

It only took a few minutes to fall asleep after you put your head on his shoulder. Nothing woke you up, not even the quiet sounds of the movie or when Thor jumped up next to you on the couch, not even when Steve picked you up and walked into his bedroom with you in his arms.

Only when he carefully laid you down on the bed you finally opened your eyes, but you couldn't see much of him in the dark room. "What time is it?"

"Late," he replied quietly, pulling a blanket over you. "Go back to sleep. I'll take the couch."

Before he could walk away, you grabbed his forearm. "Don't be silly. Stay here."

Steve hesitated for so long and you were too tired to try to convince him. He almost left the room anyway, but changed his mind at the door. By the time he took his clothes off and lied down next to you, you were already sleeping again.


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was just beginning to change from the dark colours of the night to the soft greys of dawn when Steve opened his eyes, watching through the window as the pale, early lights flickered between the snow-covered trees. He was accustomated to being awake so early, as on weekdays he woke up around this time for work. Once he did, he almost never went back to sleep; he would get up and do something to keep himself busy. On this Sunday morning, Steve didn't even think about leaving his bed. He felt the long forgotten, yet somehow still so familiar heat of someone else's body against his, faint breath gently blowing on his bare back. It sent a scattering of goosebumps across his skin, especially because you stole all the blankets from him sometime during the night. He blinked slowly before he turned around, careful not to wake you while you were sleeping so soundly.

Brushing a loose strand of hair off your face, Steve let his hand linger on your cheek. He wanted nothing more than pull you close, bury his face into your soft hair, enjoy the warmth of your body in his arms. He was almost sure you would let him, yet he didn't think it was something he should do. As much as he tried to give in to all the good things and feelings that were happening to him, he was afraid. The closer you got to each other, the more he felt how easily you could slip through his fingers. How could he afford to lose someone again? He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, chasing away the negative thoughts. It was such a nice and peaceful moment; he might as well enjoy it while he could.

* * *

The first thing you noticed after you woke up was something warm and heavy on your cheek. It made you jump a little, but as your eyes fluttered open, you found Steve lying close to you, resting his hand on your face. It was hard to stifle a smile. Last night you fell asleep very quickly, only moments after he laid you down on his bed. You weren't even sure he stayed in the room instead of taking the couch, let alone finding him lying so close to you. It made you wonder when he decided to hold your cheek in his palm.

Wearing Steve's warm clothes and wrapped up in a thick duvet felt cosy last night, but now it was too much and you couldn't wait to shrug out of them. You grasped his hand so you could slip away from under his touch, but as you did, you realized he was almost completely naked with no blanket covering him. With an apologetic smile that he couldn't see, you sat up to drape the covers over his sleeping form, but had to stop in your movement. As your eyes wandered over his body, you felt a tightening in your stomach. You ached to leave kisses on his skin and snuggle up against his warmth. If his sweatshirt and sweatpants that you had on didn't make you warm enough, the thoughts that suddenly filled your mind definitely did. Dropping the blanket on his body, you crawled out of the bed quickly and left the room to take a cold shower.

* * *

When Steve woke up second time that morning, he found his bed empty. He stirred, turned on his back and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. As he looked out of the window, he couldn't see much except the swirling snow; six or seven inches of it piled on the windowsill.

Steve just sat up when you stepped in, pushing the door open with your foot. The smell of coffee wafted into the bedroom as you carried two cups in your hands. He watched with bathed breath as you padded across the room, freshly showered judging by the damp ends of your hair, wearing nothing but his plaid shirt. Before you would see something he didn't quite want you to see, he pulled the blanket back over his lap.

"Morning," you plopped down next to Steve and extended him a cup. By now, you learned how he took it—strong, black, with just a little a sugar. "I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. And for stealing your clothes."

"It's okay," Steve chuckled quietly, blowing on his coffee before he took a sip. "It looks pretty on you." His voice sounded deeper in the morning, but with a nice lightness to it that made your stomach flutter. His own words made his cheeks flush pink, while he tried to tear his gaze away from where his shirt ended and left your thighs exposed.

"Thank you," you smiled into your cup. "I'm keeping it."

Though he knew you were joking, he wouldn't have minded it if you did. He wouldn't mind it at all, if he could see you like this every morning. With a smile on his lips, he leaned back against the headboard. "Any plans for today?"

You shook your head. "Just the usual. I'll write, I'll watch a movie, I'll try to write again…"

"Or you could stay here," he said, running his free hand through his hair. "If you—if you want to."

"If you don't mind it," you smiled, taking a sip from your coffee. "But I'm not watching the Field of Dreams."

Steve nodded, emptying his cup before he placed it down on the nightstand. "I just remembered, I have some important things to do so—" He couldn't finish the sentence as you hit him in the face with the pillow, laughing. You saw him smiling while you took the pillow back. "Do you really want to start this again?"

You let out another small laugh before you sighed and lied back down on the bed. "No. My back is covered in bruises."

Comfortable silence settled between the two of you for long minutes, phone in hands and scrolling through the news. While Steve mostly read politics and other important news from the world, you stuck to culture and viral stuff, happily announcing him when you saw something cute. It went to the point where he just locked his phone and lied down on the bed, facing you but eyes closed, focusing on your voice.

"Have you heard of the questions that was designed to make people fall in love?" you asked, eyes on the screen.

Steve opened his eyes, but frowned. "No. What's that?"

"Well," you sighed, looking at him. "Scientist say love is more of a choice than we allow ourselves to believe, so they made up these 36 questions that helps us to fall in love."

"This is bullshit," Steve shook his head. "Love is not rocket science."

You shrugged. "I don't know. These questions are pretty good."

"Okay," Steve nodded and jumped out of the bed. "I make breakfast and then we'll answer those question."

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up on the bed. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I'm hungry."

"No…" you chuckled, rolling your eyes while Steve put on a t-shirt. "I was talking about the questions you called bullshit ten seconds ago."

Steve shrugged and opened the door. "I'm curious."

Shaking your head with a laugh, you jumped out of the bed and collected the coffee cups, hurrying after Steve. You put them into the kitchen sink to wash them, but Steve put his hand on your lower back, kissing your temple after he said, "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute."

It was a small gesture, but coming from him, it wasn't as insignificant as it would have been from someone else. It was always you who kissed his cheek or pulled him into a hug, and never the other way around. Speechless and a little confused, you walked back to his bedroom, but by the time you fell down to the bed, you were smiling.

A few minutes later Steve returned with a plate loaded with food. While you were eating, you read questions after questions. Most of his answers didn't surprise you, nor yours him, as you already knew each other quite well by now. However, you definitely didn't count on some of them.

"What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?"

Steve let out a long sigh after he heard your question. He stared off into the distance, his back resting against the headboard. "I don't know," he said after a long pause. "My days are pretty much the same."

"Oh, come on," you tutted. "There must be some things that you love to do. Just imagine you don't have to go to work, you have all day free like today, except you don't have to spend it with me."

Steve laughed. "You say like it's a bad thing."

"I don't know, Steve. You chose to live alone. Maybe you're just being polite."

"Or maybe I just like to be with you more than being alone," he smiled. "And maybe that perfect day wouldn't be possible without you."

Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you quickly started tell about your perfect day. More than hour passed like a minute and you were just at the tenth question—you talked everything through so in detail without even realizing it.

"Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible," you read the question out loud and Steve breathed out, lying back on the bed with an arm beneath his head.

You started; telling as many information as you could. Of course, he already knew most of the things you told him, so you tried to add details that you haven't told him yet. Steve was curious and asked a lot, so the four minutes easily became fifteen by the time you finished talking, and it was his turn.

He stared the ceiling for a while, mumbling under his breath like he couldn't tell everything in four minutes, but then he finally started, a little uncertainty in his tone. "I was born and raised in Brooklyn. High school was terrible. A nightmare, really."

"Why?"

"The bullies," Steve shrugged a little, his faint smile widening when his eyes met your surprised gaze. "What is it?"

"Nothing," you shook your head, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "You're just very kind, and funny, and handsome—it's not like there's a reason for it anyway, but why anyone wanted to pick up on you?"

Steve heaved a sigh, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips before turned to his side and opened the nightstand by his bed. He pulled out a small box, wiped the thin layer of dust off it, then lied down again and opened it, searching between a heap of old picture. "I came from a poor family. I was skinny, weak, and I never knew when I should shut my mouth."

As he stopped and held a picture up, you leaned your head down on his bicep and reached for the photo, your mouth falling open at the sight of Steve—sixteen or maybe even younger, skinny and looking even smaller in the clothes that was clearly too big for him.

"Holy shit! Is that really you?"

"That is really me," he nodded as you looked up at him, before you watched the picture again.

"I can't believe it," you chuckled. "You were really cute, by the way."

While he told about the rest of his life story, you continued flipping through the pictures, occasionally asking question about the people on them. He had some very nice photos of his friends—he had talent for photography just as he had for drawing. From those that weren't taken by him you found some funny moments: in bars, on concerts and trips, hearty laughs and smiling eyes.

It didn't take long until you found the first picture of Peggy. It was her in a nice red dress with Steve next to him, wearing his uniform. "She was very beautiful."

"Yes. She was," Steve said with only a pinch of sadness in his voice. It was strange to talk about her, but it felt good that someone didn't bring her up as a tragedy, but as a nice memory.

"Can I ask something about her?" you sat up, putting a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "About the both of you… I'm just trying to understand you."

"Go on."

"When you left behind everything and came here… did you do it because you felt guilty because of what happened? Or because you love her so much you didn't know what to do anymore?"

Steve sat up too and drew in a deep, shaky breath. For a moment, you were scared your question was too much, but he started to talk surprisingly quickly. "A bit of both," he said, looking at you, resting his head against the wall. "You said I'm not a quitter, remember? Well, you were right. After what happened I didn't leave immediately. As surprising it is, they didn't fire me, they didn't even suspended me, so I took the advantage and solved the case. Deep down I thought if got them, if I could see them imprisoned, it would gave some relief," he shook his head slowly. "It didn't. And I couldn't deal with it anymore. The grief, the guilt… I thought if I stayed alone for a while, it would solve all of my problems."

"And it didn't."

"No," Steve breathed out, fidgeting with the pictures that was scattered around the bed. It took a long minute until he started to talk again. "I loved Peggy. She was the first woman I loved and I genuinely thought she would be the last, too. Even after she died. I thought I could never find someone again."

It didn't escape your notice he talked about everything in past tense. "Did you change your mind?"

Steve remained silent again, ran his fingers through his grown hair, and you could tell he was trying to decide how he should phrase his thoughts. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he finally started to talk, slowly and quietly. "When I came here I used to work all the time. Trying to keep my mind busy so I wouldn't think of her," he closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. "I can't say it helped much. All I could think was her and what happened. People say it gets better with time and you know, it really does. I caught myself smiling on a joke or forgetting about her for a minute and then I felt guilty again. I used to think: this is how I'm going to forget her?"

"But I didn't. I doubt I could ever completely forget her," he continued after a few seconds. "But I think I moved on. It's just hard to admit."

With a faint smile on your lips, you told him you were glad he was healing, that he deserved happiness and that he shouldn't feel guilty about it. Though you didn't tell him, but you were also happy to hear he could talk about it his feelings, that he finally opened up to you. He told you snippets earlier, but you felt he was the most sincere this time.

He collected the pictures and put them back into the small box while you checked the time on your phone. "We're terrible in this. They say the 36 question should take around one hour, but we only answered 11 and we started two hours ago."

Steve smiled, sitting back next to you. "What did I tell you?"

"Okay," you rolled your eyes and punched his arm playfully. "But you have to admit they were interesting and you'd want to know these things about your date."

"Fine. They are. But don't tell me you really think it is up to a few questions that who you will fall in love with."

"Of course it isn't," you agreed with him, and you didn't lie. You didn't need to hear his answers for all 36 questions to fall in love with him.

* * *

Later you went for a little walk with Thor—only a half an hour or so before a snow storm chased you back into the house. Steve was right: winters were hard up here, and it wasn't even December yet.

While he cooked lunch, you baked some apple pies from Steve's mother's old recipe, that – according to him – no one could make the same way she did. Though you didn't even try to compete with her, you did your best, and the genuine surprise on Steve's face after he tasted the pie made you smile.

Even when you settled down on the couch with a pen and a sketchbook that you borrowed from Steve, he was still eating pie with content hums that made you chuckle. It didn't go unnoticed by him, but he only smiled as he sat down next to you. "It's really good."

"I'm glad you like it."

An hour or two passed like seconds; only the soft crackle of the fire and the wind howling outside broke the silence. You kept writing and writing, until your wrist hurt and you just thought about to take a break and walk a little around the house, when you heard Steve's quiet chuckle.

Looking at him, you saw him smiling with a book in his hands. You peaked into it, reading the title at the top of the page: it was The Master and Margarita.

"I could never get through it," you said, scrunching up your nose.

"Really?" It's one of my favourites."

It didn't surprise you; most of his favourites were classics. Putting the sketchbook and pen down the coffee table, you asked him to read from it for you. Steve didn't protest. You linked your arm with his and leaned your head down on his shoulder. For a while you read the lines with him, but a few pages later you closed your eyes and focused on his voice that he lowered as he was so close to your ear. Maybe it didn't help much on how you felt about the book, but you figured he could read anything, you would still love to listen his voice.

He slipped lower on the couch and your head fell on his chest. You smiled up at him for a second, before put your head down again.

"I thought you fell asleep," he said, resting his free hand on your knee.

"Nope," you replied, though your voice was definitely sleepy. "Keep reading, please."

Steve did as you asked, but a few minutes later, he stopped again. He didn't move either so you raised your head, meeting the pair of cerulean eyes, his pupils dilated. He was so close you could see every little imperfections that made him perfect: the hint of green in the blue of his eyes, or the tiny freckles over his nose. He didn't tear his gaze away from you and it burned a hole into you, making your heart flutter wildly in your chest. In the moment you glanced down on his parted lips he leaned closer, albeit with an agonizingly slow pace. His hot breath hit your cheek and you felt the tickle of his beard against your chin, but before his lips could reach yours, he pulled back.

A shaky breath that you have been holding passed your lips and Steve leaned back against the couch, clearing his throat and running his hand through his hair. Your cheeks were hot and you both avoided each other's eyes, but when your gaze met, he was the one who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I just—"

Seeing he was even more nervous than you were, you took his hand and cut him off. "Steve, it's fine, it's okay. Calm down," you smiled, though it was a little forced, and he noticed it immediately. He just couldn't decide if it was because you were disappointed he didn't kiss you, or because it wasn't okay that he tried to.

You wanted to let him know that you wanted that kiss, or just simply kiss him so it would make it clear, but before you could have done or said anything, another thoughts filled your mind. Earlier Steve told you he moved on, but it didn't necessarily mean he was ready for another relationship, let alone with you. It was obvious something was going on between you, but pushing him wouldn't be a smart idea.

The comfortable silence became too awkward to bear it anymore so you stood up from the couch, telling him you should leave. Steve felt himself like an idiot and apologized again, but you reassured him it wasn't because of your almost-kiss. It wasn't dark outside yet but he walked you back to your cabin anyway.

Steve lied awake in his bed later that night, staring the ceiling in the dark room. He couldn't fall asleep, not when his pillow smelled like your hair and all he wanted was to have you there. He tried to think back and figure it out when his feelings changed for you so much. He knew he liked you from the first day he met you, he knew his feelings were growing, but only now, during this weekend you spent together he realized it was more. Something he thought he could never experience ever again.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to his side and closed his eyes, only to open them again moments later. He couldn't lie to himself: you made him feel so good, almost happy, that he couldn't quite believe it was real, and he definitely wasn't sure it would last long. When did he ever had anything good in his life that wasn't temporary?

Steve's heart ached at the thought of letting you go but even more if he considered the possibility of losing you. He wanted you, but he wasn't sure it was him you needed.


	6. Chapter 6

The wooden steps of the stairway creaked loudly under your weight as you walked down with a mug in each hand, careful not to spill the cocoa. The basement that Steve used as a workshop was spacious, well-lighted, and it always smelled like sawdust and varnish. The record player that you didn't find up in the house was down there—the melodies of Louder Than Bombs by The Smith filled the basement. Steve barely ever listened anything that wasn't from the eighties.

"I made you one too," you placed a mug down before him, leaning against the desk and taking a sip from your own. "I couldn't find marshmallows."

Steve turned to you with his chair, smiling as he wiped his hands on the rag that he always kept tucked into his belt when he was working on something. "Maybe because unlike you, I'm not five years old."

"I know," you said with a small pout. "You're seventy-five."

With a shake of his head, his smile grew, watching as you walked to the other side of the room and sat down by another table, opening your notebook to continue your writing.

In the past few weeks you spent even more time together than before—every day after Steve came back from work. One night at your place, where you settled down on the couch and eat something while you watched a movie. One night at his, where you usually cooked dinner from his mother's recipe book. He either helped you or – if he was exhausted – read an excerpt from the novel you were working on.

The weekends passed pretty much the same way, except you always spent it at his house. It became so natural to have you there that Steve even emptied a desk from his tools and set a lamp on it. Sometimes when he was down there, doing some carpentry or craving, you continued writing your book. Sometimes, you just watched him working. The frown that creased his forehead in concentration, his slightly messed hair, the flex of his arms were definitely a nice sight of your eyes.

As much as you loved when you had long conversations, hours and hours long, days when you both minded your own business had it charms as well. It was very peaceful to be alone together with someone without constantly feeling you have to say something. You were alone, isolated from the world, and yet you've never felt so whole.

While you accepted and cherished the feeling quickly, it wasn't so easy for Steve. He felt cold, echoing emptiness for so long that now, when you slowly started to fill the hole inside him, he was hyperaware of every little feeling. It squeezed his heart, it made his stomach hurt. He realized now how lonely he had been in the past few years. How lost, how hopeless. It pained him to think he allowed this to happen, because just as you said it right, he was never the kind of person who ran away from his problems, even when he didn't say a way out.

Now he was carrying the sadness of his past on his back, even though you lit a fire inside him each day. While a part of him wanted to stop fighting about it, another part felt guilty for letting himself having feelings like this for someone again. These thoughts mostly came to the surface when he was alone, without you. When you were around him, Steve let himself melting into it without even realizing.

Even though you didn't talk of it, neither of you could forget about the kiss that almost happened. The first few days were the hardest, when the memory was still too vivid but you both tried to act like nothing happened. It made you think twice before you said anything, it made him blush when you kissed his cheek, and it made every a hug a little more uncomfortable than before. It became better as the weeks passed, and only reduced to stolen glances at each other's lips that both of you noticed but none of you did anything about it.

Sometime later when you got tired and the words didn't come as easily as before, you decided to take a break and rolled your chair next to Steve's, resting your elbow on his desk. You didn't notice when he put his lumber away, but now he was drawing something, almost finished, and one of the most detailed you've seen from him.

"I love your sketches."

Steve smiled at you, but at the same time he straightened his back and shifted a little nervously on the chair. "Does it look familiar?"

With a frown, you leaned closer, examining his art with narrowed eyes.

"I made this for your book," Steve helped you out a few seconds later, tapping his pencil against the desk. "Not for your book—it just inspired me."

Widened eyes fixed on the paper, you were so amazed that you didn't even notice Steve's worry about what if you didn't like his drawing. It was easy to recognize now; the details, the symbols. Seeing your reaction, Steve quickly calmed down.

"This is amazing," you gaped at him for a second, before your eyes found the artwork again. "Jesus. I could watch this all day."

Steve let out a small chuckle. "I'll finish it and then it's yours."

After you thanked him with a bright grin, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his cheek. And there it was again, you could see as you slowly pulled back; he glanced at your lips for a moment, before casted his eyes down with an almost bashful smile.

"If I ever finish this book," you said after a deep breath, making his gaze lift to yours again. "Can I use this as the cover?"

Steve was surprised that you really liked his sketch that much; he even tried to talk you out of it because – as he said – you could easily find a better man for that job. What he created was beautiful and you wanted to use it, and seeing how much you loved it warmed his heart.

"You can catch the atmosphere of the book so well," you said, watching as he worked on his drawing.

His eyes stayed on the paper. "I used to do this a lot. Every time I read a book and I liked it so much, I drew something about it."

Your gaze shifted to his face, smiling. One thing you could never understand was how Steve became a police captain while he was a true artist. He poured his heart and soul into every little work of his, he loved doing it, yet it never even crossed his mind to do this for a living.

Later, Steve accompanied you back to your cabin as he always did. It became a habit too, because he never let you out alone when it was dark outside, but after a while he walked with you even if it was still bright daylight. The sun was just setting down now, pale and blinding in the cold December afternoon. Fresh snow crunched under your boots as you walked through the forest, choosing the shorter way to reach the house.

"So, I was in the library earlier today…" you started slowly, a little uncertainly. It was bothering you all day: you had the words on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed them back each time. "And I heard there's going to be an early Christmas party in this pub with some concerts. I hoped you'd come with me."

Steve sighed, watching as his breath turned to mist on the cold air. The shop windows were plastered with posters about the event you were talking of; he saw them too. He even considered inviting you, but now he was there, he wasn't so sure if he should go. "I don't know," he shook his head, looking at you. "I haven't been to anywhere like this in ages."

"It's about time then," you said, stepping up on the porch. He was torn, you could see. "Please, Steve. I worked so hard on my book, I deserve a break," you looked up at him; light voice and pleading eyes easily putting him at ease. "If you feel uncomfortable, we'll just leave. But give it a try for me."

Steve smiled. How could he say no?

* * *

"Do you think it's okay? Or should I wear something… I don't know, prettier?"

Phone in your hand, you turned around to check yourself in the mirror again, tilting your head slightly.

"I thought you said it's not a date."

Raising your hand, you huffed out an annoyed breath, seeing the smug smile on Hope's face. "It's not."

She grinned even more. "Then why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous!" The answer came quicker and louder than you intended to and you sighed in defeat, ignoring your friend's laugh and watching your reflection in the mirror again.

"I think it's nice," Hope said reassuringly, only to add smugly a moment later, "But maybe you should choose a nice lingerie."

Closing your eyes and slowly shaking your head, you plopped down at the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow at your phone screen. "I really shouldn't have told you about Steve."

"Too late," she said with a singing voice. "So tell me it's not true you're planning to spend Christmas up there."

Looking away, you bit the inside of your cheek. This was exactly what you planned to do. The past couple weeks had been the most productive period for you since you came to Colorado; you knew if you go back, even just for a week, you might have to start everything from the beginning. The holidays should be about friends and family, but it was mostly about stressing over gifts, preparing dinners all day, and meeting relatives that were no more than huge pain in the ass. This year you simply didn't feel to celebrate Christmas.

Your friends constantly tried to convince you to go home already, insisting that staying alone for so long wasn't healthy. They were right—except most of them didn't know that you were not alone.

And there was the other reason that made you want to stay: you didn't want to leave Steve alone for Christmas. Though he never said, it wasn't hard to put two and two together—he spent this time of the year by himself, too.

"I don't know, Hope," you said finally. "I threw everything away to come here and now I finally see it wasn't in vain. Maybe it wouldn't be the best idea to go back. Not yet."

"I'm not saying you should come back for good. But you need a break," Hope persisted. "And a few days with us will definitely make you feel better. Scott already decorated the whole house.

You couldn't stifle a laugh, knowing well Scott always got a little overexcited around the holidays, when he could spent a little extra time with his daughter.

"You can bring the mountain man too."

"Really?" A wave of excitement washed over you, but it vanished as quickly as it came. Chances of Steve would agree on that were dangerously low. "I doubt he would come. And don't call him like that."

Soon, you ended the call with a promise to Hope that you will at least think about her offer. Deep down, you already made up your mind.

* * *

A week later, you and Steve left the house early, not knowing how fast you can reach the town on the snowy roads. Since they were surprisingly clean and you arrived a lot sooner, you decided to take a walk around the main street.

The sidewalks were coated in ice, hidden under a thin layer of snow that made it harder to walk. Noticing your cautious steps, Steve intertwined his fingers with yours. His touch was gentle and careful, but you jolted a little from the surprise, looking up at him as he tucked your arm underneath his. "Just preventing you from slipping on the ice."

You were glad the scarf you had on covered the lower half of your face, so Steve couldn't see the enormous grin that formed on your lips.

This was the first time you were in the town after dark, and it never felt so empty before. So deserted but so peaceful, with the snow falling gently and the multi-coloured Christmas lights flickering on and off around the streets. It felt homely. You could easily imagine to spend the holidays here, much rather than in New York.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Steve said after you stepped into the pub, shrugging out of you coat. It was a typical small town pub with a long polished oak bar, pictures and guitars hanging from the brick wall. An ancient looking piano and a jukebox that definitely didn't work stood at the back of the room. A pool table in the middle, a poker table pushed back. Frying food and beer mingled in the air. There was another area with a small stage, no chairs and tables just a few booths by the wall.

Steve ran his hands over his beard after you sat down, looking around the pub. With his eyebrows raised slightly, he looked like a lost puppy. Seeing his distress you leaned closer above the table and took his hand into yours. "If you want to leave, we can."

He hesitated. It would have been much easier to get up and leave, but you were so excited about this night and he didn't want to let you down. Besides, he learnt that you could always make him feel very relaxed. "No," he shook his head with a tiny smile and run his thumb along the back of your hand. "I want to stay."

A few beers also helped to ease the tension. Soon, as more people started to fill the pub and it became noisier, Steve slipped closer with his chair so you could hear each other better.

"Do you have any plans for Christmas?" he asked and your heart skipped a beat: you knew if you didn't ask now, you wouldn't do it later.

"Actually, I wanted to ask the same. My roommate will be with her family so if I go home, I'd spent the majority of my time alone anyway. I thought… if you don't have any plans, maybe you could come with me."

Steve felt his pulse quickening. He didn't celebrate Christmas for years—a holiday where everything was about the loved ones only meant more pain for him since he lost Peggy. Spending it alone hurt, but he still liked it better than going home and listening how sorry everyone felt for him. It was different with you. As you watched him with a gentle, hopeful smile, Steve caught himself on wishing he could say yes and go with you.

He stopped denying his feelings by now, because he couldn't anymore; once he realized, it was too strong to hold it back. But even though he admitted to himself that he started to fall in love with you, Steve still felt guilty about it. He felt like he betrayed Peggy, because he loved her; he loved her with everything he had. How could he allow himself to fall for someone again? Deep down, he knew it was stupid to think like this. He knew he should let himself move on without feeling bad about it. But whenever he tried, a million thoughts filled his mind about why he shouldn't.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Steve said. "You'd surely like to spend some time with your friends and your family and I really don't want to disturb anything."

You shook your head. "You wouldn't. I've already talked with them and they would love to meet you."

Steve swallowed hard. He wasn't sure how to feel about that you talked about him, though it wasn't a secret—he told about you to his friends, too. For some inexplicable reason, it just felt strange. Not only had you appeared in his life while you were both isolated from everything and everyone; he also let you in very quickly. Sometimes he felt like you were his fragile little secret, and you could disappear as quickly as you came.

"If you don't come with me," you started as he didn't answer. "I'll stay here with you. At least then none of us will be alone."

He couldn't stifle a warm and thankful smile—all the excuses but he knew you only wanted to stay so he wouldn't be alone. Christmas or not, if Steve wanted to be honest, the mere thought of spending days or even weeks without you saddened him. He spent years in solitude, but after getting a taste of how it felt to be with someone he loved, he didn't know how he could go back to be alone again.

But how he could ask something like this of you? Just because he gave up on everything and everyone, it didn't mean he would ever make you to do the same. Even if it was temporary. "You should go home, Y/N," he said after a sigh. "Don't worry about me."

"But…" You trailed off, eyebrows furrowed in confuse. For a second, you really thought he would want you to stay with him.

"Thank you for thinking of me. I really appreciate it. But don't stay here just because of me," Steve said with a smile that never reached his blue eyes. "I'll be fine."

You knew his words were final, and you couldn't think of anything that would change his mind. Dragging him with you at any cost wasn't an option; you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. It was surprising enough he agreed on to coming with you tonight; you knew if it happened a month ago, he would have said no. With him, you had to take everything slow, but seeing the tiniest crumble of process, you knew it worth it.

Despite of your small smile, Steve noticed the disappointment in your eyes. It was the very same look you gave after the almost kissed you.

"Steve Rogers!" Someone's surprised shout made you jump, not leaving a room for uncomfortable silence. Turning your head towards the source of it, you spotted a man with messy, dirty blond hair, wrinkled t-shirt and sleepy eyes, walking towards your table.

Steve stood up to shake his hand, but even though he smiled, he seemed just as surprised as the other man sounded. "What are you doing here, Clint?"

"What? Just because I'm deaf I can't even go to a show?"

"I didn't say that," Steve raised a hand in defence. "I just—"

"Never seen me here before? Maybe you should leave your tree house more often. But enough of you, pal," he punched Steve in the arm with the back of his hand when you stood up, eyes on you. "Don't be rude and introduce the lady."

Clint relieved the tension that settled between you and Steve very quickly. He told you about his dog and stories from his job at the animal shelter, all filled with silly jokes that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. You would almost fell off the chair once if Steve didn't pull you back.

"So," Clint clapped and rubbed his hands together and looked at you some time later. The concert was just about to start in the other room, but none of you payed attention at this point. "Do you want to play darts?"

"Oh," you put down the empty beer bottle and shrugged. "I haven't played in a while, but—"

"Don't," Steve shook his head with a smile, knowing well what his friend was up to. "He just wants to mess with you. He was a professional."

"Well," you said slowly, turning to Clint. "That means it will be even more pleasurable when I beat him."

Clint grinned at Steve. "I like your girlfriend."

"She isn't my girlfriend," he mumbled, but Clint couldn't read it off his lips as he was already on his feet, walking to the darts. You laughed and followed him, but not before pulled Steve up by his arms and with you.

"We're going to play 301," Clint started to explain while you leaned against the wall and Steve rolled the sleeves of his henley up to his elbow. "Each of us will throw three darts per turn, but you have to hit a double to—"

"I know how to play it," you cut him off.

"She knows how to play. All right," he mumbled, handing you the arrows. "Ladies first."

It wasn't surprising that Clint easily won the first few rounds, and most of the other games you played. He could trip over his own feet and spill his beer on himself more times you could count, but he was skilled in bar games. Steve kept up with him pretty well, and you were too tipsy to care about your ugly defeat. In fact, you even won against Clint once by accident, but you wouldn't admit that to him.

You were sitting on a barstool, waiting for your drink when Steve returned from the bathroom, stopping beside you with an amused look. He put a hand on your back, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him from the music. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

"I don't think so," you said, turning the stool with a little too much force. Steve grabbed it to stop, shaking his head, but couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He found you adorable like this, clumsy and giggling. You lifted the bottle to his lips, but he gently brushed your hand back.

"Someone has to drive us home, sweetheart."

The name made your heart flutter and his ears turning pink when he realized he said it. You bit down your lower lip to hide a grin, sliding off the stool and grabbing his hand. "Come and dance with me."

"What? No. Stop," he turned around to stop you as you already started to pull him to the other room. "I can't dance."

"Me neither. That's not the point," you said, fighting your way through the crowd with your hands around Steve's arm.

Reluctantly, but he followed you. He had genuinely no idea how to dance to the fast song the band was playing when you stopped, looking down at you like he was completely lost. You took his hands again, guiding him. He was visibly nervous first, but seeing the happy glint in your eyes, he could tried to let loose himself a little. It only took two songs before he took the control from you, spinning you around and pulling you closer and closer. You wrapped your hands around his neck when the music stopped and you felt his arms around you, his laugh sweet in your ear that made your heart swell. It was so rare to see him like this.

A slow song came and you leaned back to look at him. You weren't sure he wanted this.

"Do you want to…?"

You gave an excited nod and Steve pulled you back, swaying lightly to the music. He held your hand gently, his beard tickling your skin as he pressed his cheek against yours. "I'm going to step on your feet."

"You won't."

Steve smiled and pushed you closer until your body was pressed against him. He felt your breath gently blowing on his neck, making him want to tilt your chin up and kiss your lips. He never really liked to dance, but he wanted this moment to last forever.

The song ended too soon, both of your skin heated as you pulled back with a smile. The rest of the night passed quieter, the three of you just talking until Clint dozed off on the table. Steve woke him up and drove him home first, before you left the little town as well.

The snow stopped falling, but the wind only increased: howling, biting into your cheeks, making you shiver with cold. The night came to its end and you stood on the porch, fumbling with your keys in the dark; only the tiny bulb above the door offered some light. The lock opened with a soft click but you left the key in the hole, turning back to Steve and stuffing your already frozen hands back into your pockets.

Neither of you said it out loud what both of you thought: he didn't want to leave and you wanted him to stay. What was really no more than twenty seconds, it seemed like an eternity. Sharing soft smiles without speaking a word, standing in the freezing cold that seemed less unbearable under each other's warm and heavy gaze. Steve's eyes gleamed with something that you had seen more and more lately, and you realized no one had ever looked at you the way he did.

"Thank you," Steve broke the silence, his voice deep but light as always. "Thank you for tonight."

Knowing it was a huge step for him but he did it with you made your heart swell. You smiled, and after a few seconds of pause, you took a tiny step closer. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me for the holidays?"

Heaving a sigh, Steve shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Gust made a mess of his hair and he ran his fingers through it, slowly combing his locks back with his fingers; anything to buy himself some time. "I…" It was the only thing he could say as his eyes found yours again before he stopped, words stuck on his throat. What was he supposed to say? Should he tell how much he wanted to go with you, how much he wanted _you_ , even though it scared him to death? Because it did, on more way he could ever count at this point.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to push you," you added quietly as he didn't speak, shaking your head. "I just don't want you to be alone."

"I told you that you don't have to worry about me," Steve inched closer too, concern creasing his forehead. He didn't want to see you sad because of him. "I've been alone a lot in the past years, you know. I got used to it."

"I know. I just…" you fell silent, taking a step forward again. Steve's lips slightly parted and his breath hitched, because suddenly he was aware of how close you were. Hot breath hit his cheek as you sighed, loose strands of hair tickling his skin as the wind blew them into his face. You reached up to brush them away, but Steve was quicker, putting them behind your ear. His hand lingered and you smiled, toying with the zipper on his coat to relieve some stress. "I know you were alone and I know you chose this. I just hoped some things changed since I'm here. Was I wrong?"

"No," Steve's hand moved to your chin, lifting your face so you would look at him. "You know you're not. Everything changed since you're here."

He cupped your cheek, calloused thumb brushing carefully across your skin. He leaned in, just as close as he was last time. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, because he stopped again—but this time, he didn't pull away.

"Can I—"

"Yes."

A short, breathless laugh escaped him as you didn't let him to finish, finally leaning in for a kiss. It started out soft and slow, nibbling and tugging gently. The tip of his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, enough to make your skin tingle but leaving you to want more. Your legs trembled, but you knew it had nothing to do with the weather: you wanted this for so long that now, feeling the tiniest touches of his made your knees weak. Steve pulled back for a second and looked into your eyes; his gaze intense as he lifted his other hand too to your face.

When he kissed you again, you couldn't keep a tiny sigh of content in anymore. It felt so right, better you could have ever imagined. He kept it slow, but more passionate, setting fire low in your belly.

Hands slipping off his chest, you reached back to open the door, before gripped his coat again and backed into the house, never breaking the kiss. Steve pushed the door shut when he was inside, following you blindly. Only the coffee table stopped you as your leg bumped into it.

Coats were on the floor soon and his arms wrapped around you, gently pushing you closer until your body was tucked against his. The feeling of your fingertips on his neck, then gripping his hair made Steve shivering with pleasure. His hands slipped down from your back to your hips, his hold tightening as he deepened the kiss.

It was one of those rare occasions when Steve completely lost himself in the moment. He turned his mind off. He allowed himself to enjoy how good you felt against him, how easily you made him lose control, how your tiniest moans sent goosebumps down on his spine. He desperately tried to pull you closer and closer, tugging your body his, making you feel like you could melt into a puddle each time he did. Both of your clothes became wrinkled and out of place from grinding against each other, leaving some parts of skin exposed. Your collarbone, his hipbone. Steve felt your hands sliding down his chest, the feel of your hand brushing against his lower abdomen made him dizzy.

His heart started beating even harder in his chest and suddenly, his mind was racing again. He slowed the kiss down, because he wasn't sure anymore it was a good idea, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you. Only when you almost unbuckled his belt, Steve grasped your wrist and broke the kiss.

"Stop," his voice came out as a hoarse whisper, out of breath, resting his forehead against yours. He released your wrist, but laced his fingers with yours.

You tried to slow your breaths down, internally scolding yourself for the stupid movement. You should have known better than pushing him too far. "I'm sorry."

Steve stepped back, and you shivered with cold as the warmth of his body left you. It was completely dark in the room, so you stepped to the reading lamp to turn it on. He adjusted his clothes, avoided your eyes. It scared you how uncomfortable he looked all of sudden; it reminded you of those times when he always went home when you wanted to invite him into your cabin. You felt like it happened an eternity ago, and now you were afraid you threw all the progress out of the window.

"Steve? I'm sorry if I went too far."

Steve heart was pounding so hard he could feel the beat of it in his ears. He leaned to rest his palms on your desk, gripping the edge of it to hide his shaking hands. He hated to feel like this, but it was all so overwhelming; not in a bad way, but still overwhelming. It was such a long time ago he felt something like this, red-hot desire swirling within him; he wasn't even sure anymore he was able to.

When he finally lifted his head, he still didn't look at you. "You didn't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I… what?"

The mix of worry and pain in your eyes made his heart ache when he finally moved his gaze to you. One of the reasons why he wanted to keep himself away from you: he didn't want to disappoint you.

You walked to him and pulled out a chair to sit down. Steve followed you; his eyes wandering around the room like he could find an escape from all of this.

"You didn't want to kiss me?"

Steve let out a sigh, eyes on his lap. "Of course I wanted to kiss you."

Leaning back against the chair, you left him a little time to collects his thoughts, hoping he would explain to you what just happened. Many thoughts ran through your head, before the realization of the most possible reason hit you hard.

"Is this about Peggy?"

Steve snapped his head up. Hearing Peggy's name felt like a punch in the stomach, because he just realized now that he hadn't think of her all day. Not when he was nervously preparing for tonight, not when he spent the whole night with you, not when he was kissing you; not until you said her name.

"No," he shook his head with a confused frown, which turned into a weak smile. "It was just a little… too much."

Biting the inside of your cheek, you looked away. You weren't sure he was completely honest. "But you said you shouldn't have kissed me. Why?"

"Y/N…" he said your name quietly, sadly. He didn't know how to put his thoughts into words without hurting you. "I know what you want. And I wish I could give it to you. But I can't."

You swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"We can't be together. I can't…" he trailed off, avoiding your now teary eyes again. "You deserve someone who can make you happy. I'm not sure I'm the best person for that."

If someone else told you this, you would easily thought it was just a poor excuse. Not Steve though—you knew he meant it. You leaned closer. "Don't you think I'm big enough to decide what makes me happy?" you asked with a small smile. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm the happiest since I met you."

Steve couldn't stop the smile that lifted his lips, but he quickly chased it away with a shake of his head, and jumped up from the chair. "No, listen," he ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as you stood up as well. "I know you've been trying to help me, and you did, a lot. And I can't even tell how thankful I am. But you have enough problem without me already. You don't need someone like me to hold you back."

"To hold me back?" you raised your voice, because you couldn't believe to your ears. "Steve. You never held me back. All you did was helping me so far."

"But I do," Steve argued, but he stayed quiet. "You already wanted to stay here instead of go home to your family."

"That…" you stopped, shaking your head. "That has nothing to do with it."

Steve fell silent for a few seconds. He didn't know how to make you understand. "I told you spending so much time alone leads to nothing good. I told you it will get harder to leave. I don't want to bring you down with me. I can't do that to you."

You crossed your arms across your chest, avoiding his eyes as you mumbled quietly, because suddenly, all of your strength left you. "You did nothing wrong, Steve."

"Go home," he said after a little pause, picking his coat up from the floor. "Spend a little time with your family. Away from here. And when you come back… _if_ you come back," he said, the thought making his chest tighten. "Then we can talk this through."

You stepped closer to him again, finding your voice. "I won't change my mind."

A little angry, disappointed, and overwhelmed by all the emotions you felt through the night, you pulled him into a hug. Steve whispered a sorry into your ear when he felt you shaking in his embrace. He squeezed you closer when he sensed you were crying, but stepped away sooner than you wanted to, and left before you could even process it.


	7. Chapter 7

The kitchen was filled with the most delicious smells of the holiday. A set of gingerbread cookies waited on the cooling rack, another sheet still in the oven. Cinnamon, ginger, orange. A steaming, oversized mug of hot chocolate that Scott placed down on the wooden top of the kitchen island for you. After hours, the bitter scent of burn turkey still lingered in the air.

Finishing the decoration on another cookie, you put away the empty icing bag and took a sip of your hot beverage. At the opposite side of the table, Cassie sat with a satisfied smile, working on different kind of Christmas tree decorations.

"Done!" she exclaimed with an excited smile, holding up the Grinch-doll she made from pine cones and branches, plastic eyes and some green paint.

Surprised at the sight of the caricature-like doll, you gulped a mouthful of hot chocolate, feeling as it burned your inside all the way down.

"It's really nice," you chocked out with teary eyes, hand on your aching chest.

"I show it to daddy," Cassie said while she slipped off the chair, rushing out of the kitchen before you cloud say anything. She nearly bumped into Hope who just walked into the room, in time to catch a small, but honest laugh from you.

With an arched eyebrow and a tiny smile, she sat down across from you. "Did I hear it right? A laugh?"

Hope wasn't exaggerating. Since you arrived to their house last night, they witnessed many things from you, but smiling wasn't one of them. Hours of crying while you told the whole story from the start. Ignoring everyone while you locked yourself in the guestroom, listening through the door as Hope tried to talk some sense into you. Shouting at Scott after his never-ending jokes and Christmas puns to cheer you up—then crying again for being an asshole. You didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings or act ungrateful, nor ruin the holiday for them, but your emotions were bubbling.

You couldn't stop thinking about Steve, and that last night you spent together. It replayed in your mind over and over again. The way he hold you close protectively while you walked down on the ice covered sidewalks. How easily you could make each other laugh. How you could put him at ease with minimal effort when he showed any sign of discomfort. The way he looked at you that night and so many times before—with so much adoration you could feel yourself melting under his gaze. The sweet memory of the kiss still made your stomach flutter. It was so loving, so soft but so intense. Kissing him was like you had never been kissed before, because nothing had ever felt so right. And yet, everything fell apart in the blink of an eye.

When you woke up late in the next morning, tired and sleep-deprived, you spent hours trying to figure out what you should say to him—because you hadn't the slightest intention of abandoning him. After a long and hot shower, you had a perfect little speech in your head with all the things you wanted to tell him. While you sipped your second coffee on that morning, mulling everything over, you changed your mind.

On no account you wanted to rush Steve, but sometimes it was hard to tell where his comfort zone ended. When he only needed a little push, and when he needed some distance. He shut himself off; he didn't talk about his feelings and what he wanted. It was very rare when he did, maybe because he wasn't even sure. You overstepped his boundaries and now you were afraid; one more step and you might completely scare him away.

With aching heart, you decided to give him the space he needed and left Leadville the next day. You had spent so much time together lately that it felt strange without him. Two days of separation was long enough to realize two things: that you missed him terribly and that you never thought that it was possible to get attached to anyone so easily.

Hope and Scott did everything to make you feel better; even Cassie helped in with reading from her favourite book when you locked yourself into the room. But you couldn't shake the heavy feeling off; the feeling of how close you were to lose Steve and everything you built up in the past months.

"Do you feel better?" Hope's quiet voice shook you out of your thoughts.

You gave a short nod and started to fill the icing bag to keep your hands occupied. "Yeah, sure."

"Then why did you draw sad face on this gingerbread man?"

You snatched the cookie out of Hope's hand and bit off its head. "It was an accident."

"Y/N," she breathed out, watching you with a heavy gaze while you avoided her eyes. "Please, don't do this. It's Christmas. Try to have some fun! It isn't worth to be so miserable because of him."

"That's not so easy."

"I didn't say it is," Hope leaned closer and squeezed your forearm, hoping you would finally look at her, but your eyes were still on the table. "You came back because you both needed a little time apart from one another. And don't say that you don't, because you do. Don't waste it being sad and thinking of him."

"Thanks. My sadness is cured," you said sarcastically, before you heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I really wish I could stop thinking about Steve for five minutes. I don't want to ruin Christmas for you. Maybe I should go home—"

"No, you stay," she said firmly. "I just don't like to see you suffering."

You gave her a sad, but thankful smile. "I'm just scared. I don't want to lose him but I feel like I just did."

A long silence settled between you. For a while, you could only hear the chatter coming from the living room where Cassie and Scott stayed. You got lost in your own thoughts again, until the sound of the kitchen timer pulled you back. Hope took the cookies out of the oven and put them on the cooling rack, before she sat down again across from you.

She took a deep breath before she spoke up. "I'm going to ask something, but please don't be mad at me." She waited a few seconds, and only went on after you gave a nod. "Are you really sure you should fight for this so hard?"

Squirming in the chair, you narrowed your eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're putting too much effort in this relationship while he's trying really hard to push you away."

You casted your eyes down again, tossing the mug back and forth in your hands. You weren't sure how to respond, because giving up on him haven't even crossed your mind. From someone else's point of view it may seemed like Steve did nothing but pushed you away, but you knew there was more behind it. He only took a step or two back when it was too much for him, and how could anyone blame him after everything he went through?

"It can't be easy for him, either," Scott voice made you jolt a little in your seat. He stood with his shoulder leaned against the doorframe, but walked into the kitchen when you and Hope looked at him. His hideous green sweater embroidered with a cat wearing Santa Hat made you smile. "I mean, the guy is spending Christmas alone. Why would he do that? Unless he's the Grinch. Or maybe he's claustrophobic. Get it? Claus—"

"Yes, Scott, we get it," Hope cut him off with a fake smile, before she turned back to you. "I'm not happy to say this because I see you really like him, but maybe you should consider that leaving him would be better for you."

"No, Y/N, don't listen to her," Scott shook his head as he walked closer, sitting down next to Hope but keeping his eyes on you. "He seems like a great guy and you really like him. You can't give up on him so easily."

"I didn't say she should give up," Hope rolled her eyes. "But how long have you known each other? For two or three months? You can't just throw away everything for someone you barely know. That's crazy."

"So she should just throw away him. Is that what you're trying to say? Because that's what we call giving up."

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back in the chair, listening their little fight over your life. While you wanted to know their opinion, you also already knew what you are going to do, and they couldn't change your mind.

"Well, I'm sorry," Hope raised her voice, turning to Scott. "For thinking that Y/N should put herself first."

"And what if I don't want that?" you asked quietly, but loud enough to draw their attention to yourself. You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head before you started to speak; your voice raising with every word. "I don't want to give up, okay? I know we don't know each other for long, but I know what I feel, and it isn't something I can just throw away. It isn't something disposable. If it was, I would've left Colorado a long time ago. Because yes, you're right, and Steve was right, too. I stayed because of him. Of course I did—do you have any idea how emotionally exhausting is to be alone for so long? But I wasn't alone," you paused to take a deep breath, whilst your friends stared you silently. "I've always put myself first; I still do. But why is it so bad if I want to care about someone else as much as for myself? So call me crazy if you want, because maybe I really am. I'm fucking crazy and I'll go back to him."

You jumped up from the chair and walked to the kitchen sink to wash your mug, but you could feel your friends' burning gaze on your back. They exchanged a meaningful glance, but didn't say anything for a while. Scott broke the silence just when you turned the tap off.

"Well, when you say it like that, it does sound crazy."

Hope elbowed him in the ribs but you only rolled your eyes, walking back to your place. Picking up your phone, you slowly scrolled through the contacts, but looked up at Hope when you heard her voice.

"I didn't know it was so serious."

"I told you," Scott murmured into his mug before he took a sip of coffee.

"If he's so important to you," Hope went on, ignoring Scott's comment, "then you really shouldn't give up so easily. Just be careful."

A faint smile curved your lips. "I will be."

While you scrolled through your list again, biting the inside of your cheek as you paused on Steve' name, Scott watched you with narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting him."

They exchanged a quick glance again. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Hope asked carefully.

"Yes," you said sharply, looking up at her. "Don't worry. I just want to make sure he's alright."

Though she didn't say anything, you knew she was holding something back. Nonetheless, she reached for a cookie and an icing bag and started to decorate; Scott joining her while they chattered in a low voice. While your gaze was glued to the phone screen, typing and deleting messages over and over again, they kept an eye on you. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally sent a short text.

 _Merry Christmas, Steve. I hope you're okay._

Promising yourself you won't wait with bated breath for his reply, you put your phone down and helped to your friends with the gingerbread men.

"Did you send a whole love letter to him?" Scott asked jokingly, but you only rolled your eyes in answer.

Minutes passed and you tried to act like the fact that Steve hasn't replied yet didn't bother you at all. When your phone finally buzzed, you dropped the icing bag immediately and opened the message. Meanwhile, Hope and Scott stopped talking and sat closer to you to read the text.

 _Merry Christmas to you too. I'm okay. My friends came to visit me. Do you feel better?_

You couldn't stifle a relieved sigh, knowing he wasn't alone. With an arched eyebrow, you looked up at Hope. "What? You still think it was a stupid idea?"

She bumped her shoulder with yours, murmuring with a smile, "I didn't say it was stupid."

Long seconds later you still stared the screen, pondering how much you should tell him. You didn't want to let him know how miserable you felt, but it would have been unnecessary to lie that you were fine. He probably knew you weren't. Seeing the hint of confusion on your face, Scott inched closer to you.

"Let me help," he said astutely. "Tell him how much you miss him. Tell him how devastated you feel that he can't be here with you. Let him know that without him your whole day is ruined."

Looking questioningly at him, your scrunched your nose up, while Hope leaned closer. "Really? So when we spend some time away from each other, do you want me to tell you things like that?"

He scoffed with a wave of his hand. "You don't have to say it, I know it anyway." He took a sip from his coffee, shrugging. "But it would be nice to hear it sometimes."

Hope chuckled while you shook your head. "I'm not going to write anything like that to him. It's ridiculous."

"But it's true."

You huffed out an annoyed breath, sending another short message.

 _I feel better. We're making cookies._

Scott groaned above you in disbelief. "Are you serious? At least let the guy know you miss him. Give me that phone."

"Scott…" you said warningly as he snatched the phone out of your hand, but he ignored you.

"Something like…" he trailed off while you looked at each other with Hope and shook your head. "Ah! How about… I wish… you were… here?"

With a tired sigh, you hid your face behind your palms; your words muffled behind your hands. "I'm not going to send him that."

"You don't have to," Scott said. "Because I already did it for you."

Your jaw dropped open while you took your phone back, staring dumbfounded at the message. "I hate you so much."

You were quite sure you won't get a response any time soon—or at all. As the minutes passed, you just became more and more nervous, throwing knives with your eyes at Scott, who avoided your gaze.

Until your phone finally started to buzz and you looked up at them with widened eyes. "He's calling me."

* * *

Steve sat with one elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped up with his fist. His eyes were on the TV but his mind was elsewhere. While he looked quiet and calm, the way he picked at the label glued to the beer bottle with his thumb betrayed him.

Natasha leaned closer to Bucky, whispering closer to his hear. "Don't you think we should say something to him?"

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head from side to side; the look in his eyes telling that it would be only a waste of time. Nat just sank back among the cushions, giving one last glance at where Steve sat in his armchair, when she felt Sam slipping closer to her on the couch.

"We can't let him suffer alone."

"Yeah," Nat added quietly. "Look at him. He looks miserable."

"I'm here too, you know," Steve said in an indifferent tone, still looking straight forward.

"Are you?" Nat asked. "You're so quiet we weren't sure."

Steve heaved a sigh and took a sip from his beer, his hand falling on the armrest of the chair. Usually, when his friends visited him unannounced, he was glad to see them. Now, however, he just wanted to be alone with his own thoughts.

When he left your house two days ago his heart was pounding hard, his chest hurt, and he was fighting an internal battle to keep himself from going back to you. He lied awake in his bed until he saw the first pale lights of the morning. The sad look in your eyes, the feeling of your body trembling with tears in his arms, the way your voice went quiet and weak haunted him all night. This is what he wanted to avoid; to disappoint you, to hurt you.

"How was your date with Y/N?" Bucky asked suddenly, trying to figure out what Steve's problem was. It didn't escape his notice that his friend was more talkative lately when they spoke on the phone, and he knew this mysterious woman was behind it. It was nice to know he finally started to be himself again.

"I told you it wasn't a date."

"I hoped we could meet her today," Nat said carefully.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but she went back to New York."

"What do you mean she went back to New York?" Bucky put his foot on the ground and straightened his leg that previously was draped over Natasha's lap, turning towards Steve. "What happened?"

Finally, Steve looked at his friends. All three of them watched him with curiosity in their eyes, and he knew they won't leave him alone until he tells them. He took a deep breath and told them pretty much everything that happened that night, because once he started to talk it was hard to stop. They listened him silently, smiling at the good parts and shocked at the bad ones.

Long seconds after he finished, they were still speechless. It was Nat who broke the silence. "So you kissed her, then you asked her to leave, then you just left. While she was crying."

"What is wrong with you?" Bucky asked only-half jokingly.

Steve heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know, Bucky, maybe the fact that I haven't kissed anyone in the past five years have some part in it."

"Oh, I see," he smiled knowingly. "You got nervous and you screwed everything up."

"It's not like that," Steve said quietly. He knew his friends only wanted the best for him, but he didn't know what he should say to make them understand that he wanted to protect you from his own, foolish decisions. "I had messed up my life enough already. I don't want to drag her with me."

The three of them exchanged a small glance, finally understanding the meaning behind his words.

"Steve," Sam started slowly, leaning forward. "You're not going to drag her into anything. She chose to be with you and from what you told, you both made each other happier since you're together. We've all made mistakes, done things that we can't forget. Stop punishing yourself and don't let your past haunt you forever. And don't let her go."

Steve smiled, because he wanted to believe him so much. He was exhausted letting his past cast a shadow over every decision he made. He didn't want to be alone anymore, and with you, he could see a way out. He wanted to believe he could make you happy. He wanted it all so badly.

His thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. With a frown, he pulled it out of his pocket, and couldn't stop the small smile that curved his lips at the sight of your name.

"Is it her? What is she saying?" Bucky asked, already moving closer to Steve to see the message.

"Why are you so sure it's her?"

"Because every person you talk to is sitting in this room. Except her," Nat replied instead of Bucky, sitting down on the armrest of Steve's chair.

Steve shook his head, trying to ignore that all three of his friends sat around him, watching his phone screen and waiting for his next step. He started to type, but stopped again soon.

 _Merry Christmas to you too. I'm okay. My friends came to visit me. I hope you feel better too._

"Wait, don't," Bucky moved closer, resting his elbows on the backrest of the chair. "Don't just say it. Ask her how she feels."

"Oh, yes. Listen to the expert," Sam said sarcastically, causing Natasha to snort with laughter.

"This is ridiculous," Steve mumbled under his breath, but listened to his friend anyway. They didn't move from his chair, waiting for a reply and throwing ideas what else Steve should write to you.

 _I feel better. We're making cookies._

 _I wish you were here._

Steve felt his heart flutter when he read the last message, the tip of his ears turning pink knowing his friends' eyes were still glued to the screen.

"Aww," Bucky tutted.

"She's so cute," Sam added at the same time, while Nat leaned closer to Steve with a small smile.

"Why don't you call her?"

"What? No. No! What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Something nice," Bucky shrugged. "Tell her you just wanted to hear her voice."

Steve looked up at his friends, shaking his head in disbelief. He hadn't seen them being so excited about something in ages. While one part of him wanted to call you, he knew he shouldn't have. After all, he was the one who suggested to take a break, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself. He stared off into the distance with these thoughts, and only realized that Bucky's finger reached for the call button when it was already too late.

"Bucky…" he said angrily, trying to turn it off, but you already picked it up. "You're a jerk."

Steve sighed, shaking his head why he stood up from the chair and lifted his hand to his face.

"Steve?" you asked with a frown as you still haven't heard his voice yet, only murmurs and laughs from the distance.

"Yes—I'm sorry. I'm here. Hi."

"Hi," you chuckled at his nervous tone, waving at Hope and Scott who watched you with curious eyes. Long seconds passed in silence. If it wasn't for the noises from the background, you would have thought he already hung up the phone. "So… why did you call me?"

"Oh, I…" Steve trailed off, clearing his throat why he walked out of the small living room to hide from his friends. He leaned his back against the door of his bedroom. "I just wanted to make sure you feel better."

You smiled and slipped off the chair, ignoring Scott who mouthed " _What is he saying?"_

"To be honest," you said, walking to the living room where Cassie watched The Polar Express. "The past few days had been tough. But I feel better."

You heard his heavy sigh through the phone. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you that night. We should've talked about what happened. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you said softly. "I'm sorry too if I pushed you too far."

"You didn't. I just…" Steve stopped to take a deep breath before he went on. "I think we should talk about this when you come back. If you… if you want to. Come back."

You let out a groan, which quickly turned into a small laugh. "Of course I'll go back. And we really should talk."

"Okay, then."

Hearing the smile behind his words made your stomach flutter. Suddenly, this little talk washed away all of your doubts and negative thoughts. "I miss you." It slipped out, but you knew you couldn't keep it in. "I know it's been only two days, but I really do."

"I miss you too."

You didn't expect to hear it back, and Steve was surprised the words came out so easily. He thought about Sam's words, and that he was maybe right. He couldn't let you go so easily, and perhaps he shouldn't have.

You ended the call soon, promising you'll be back to Leadville in a few days. The rest of the holidays went by with a smile on your lips that you couldn't wipe off.


	8. Chapter 8

It felt like an eternity had passed since you stepped up on the creaky porch of Steve's little wooden cabin, cradling a bowl of apple pie in your arms. Once again, there was a well-rehearsed speech in your head with all the things you kept repeating to yourself on the way back from Manhattan. There were so many things you needed to talk about, and while it scared you, there was something about this place that relaxed you. The silence that surrounded you here wasn't scary anymore; it was welcoming and comforting. Even though the frosty late December weather made you shiver in your thickest winter coat, it took long minutes until you finally knocked.

The excited bark you heard brought a grin to your face, easing the tension that tightened your body. Unfortunately, it didn't last long; perhaps for twenty blissful seconds until the door opened, revealing someone who definitely wasn't Steve.

Everything you had in mind, all the things you wanted to tell vanished into thin air. While the woman with shoulder-length red hair was smiling, you cursed yourself internally. When you arrived back to the cottage, you were so excited that instead of calling Steve, you dropped the bags down the bedroom's floor and quickly made your way here.

"You must be Y/N," she said, extending her arm. "I'm Nat. Come in, we were just about to kick Steve's ass in Monopoly."

"Oh, I really don't want to bother—" you said, but your hand was still in hers, and she pulled you inside before you could run away.

Everything happened too fast in the next few minutes. You could only catch a small glimpse of Steve before Thor nearly knocked you off your feet, bouncing up and down and running circles around you like he hasn't seen you in months. Nat saved the pie and you crouched down to pet the dog, but you stood up soon as Steve's other friends came closer to introduce themselves. You recognized both of them from old pictures Steve shoved you, and suddenly, all the stories he told filled your mind. Stories that made you laugh, stories that nearly made you cry.

While you shook Sam's hand, a shiver of fear ran through your body. These people weren't just his friends; they were like a family to him, and you didn't even have time to prepare yourself to meet them. If you weren't scared enough of the upcoming talk with Steve, now you were definitely terrified.

You extended your hand to Bucky, but instead of shaking it, he pulled you into a short, but warm hug.

"Sorry," he said as he pulled back, though he didn't sound that sorry at all. "Handshakes are so official. We're friends," he shrugged with a kind expression on his face that immediately made you feel a little better.

Questions after questions bombarded you while you take your coat off, secretly wishing Steve would save you. Though they didn't ask anything serious; it was just some small talk, you still felt like you were in an interrogation room.

"Okay, let her breathe," Steve said and even before you could turn around, you felt his hand on your back. While the others returned to the couch, you followed him into the tiny kitchen.

"I'm sorry," you nervously shifted your weight from one leg to the other, looking everywhere except at him. "I don't know why I thought they already left. I should've called you first."

His heart ached to see the worry in your eyes so he smiled at you warmly; his voice gentle as he spoke. "It's okay. They couldn't wait to meet you… in fact, they only stayed for so long because they wanted to see you."

"Oh. That's great."

Steve frowned. He saw your distress, but he didn't understand it. While he didn't plan to meet you like this after what happened between the two of you, he was excited to finally introduce you to his friends. He decided to avoid to ask it just yet, knowing you would tell him if something was seriously bothering you. While he began to make a pot of coffee, he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes from time to time, but you seemed just as nervous as before.

He flipped the switch on at the coffee maker before he moved closer to you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you replied a little too quickly, shrugging.

"Y/N," Steve said your name slowly, curling his fingers under your chin and lifting your face so he could look into your eyes. All he could see was the glint of fear in them. He slid his hand down then, rubbing your arm up and down to soothe away the tension. "What's wrong?"

You heaved a sigh that quickly turned into a nervous laugh, because all of sudden, it seemed so stupid to be anxious about something like this. But no matter how calming Steve's tender touches were, you couldn't just chase away your worries so easily. "I just wasn't ready to meet your friends yet," you admitted quietly, and Steve needed to listen carefully to catch your words. "I mean… they're like your family and what if they won't like me?"

There was a flicker of recognition in his cerulean eyes and his features softened again. "Come on. They will love you."

"I hope you're right."

Steve smiled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek before he pulled you into a hug. It surprised you to say at least; it was almost always you who initiated physical contact.

"Don't worry," he said quietly as you finally relaxed in his embrace. He just realized now how much he missed you, and while it felt good to have you back, it also scared him. When did this happen? A few months ago he didn't even know you existed and now, he could barely imagine his life without you. He fell fast and hard. It was so unlike him. Steve had never fallen in love easily before, it took him a lot of time to admit it to himself, and forever to talk about it. It was a long, long process, and he would have never thought it would ever happen so quickly. He thought a lot about this in the past couple of days, but he was still unsure how he will tell you.

The scent of brewing coffee filled the kitchen and you pulled back, smiling at each other. "We'll talk later, okay?"

You nodded, trying to look as calm and collected as you could. Steve's behaviour made you hopeful and excited, but you were afraid; this day could still go wrong.

After you returned to the living room, you took a seat next to Nat on the couch. When Steve sat down too, he noticed as you carefully slipped closer, until your shoulder brushed against him. He figured his closeness made you feel safer so he gave your hand a quick, gentle squeeze before he leaned back against the backrest.

Soon you realized you had nothing to be afraid of. Steve's friends were actually really nice, interested but not indiscreet. If they asked something that made you uncomfortable, Steve was quick to brush it off and change the subject. They were curious about your carrier, especially Sam, who read and loved your book. Beside that he was the easiest to talk to, he could tell jokes that made you laugh so hard the coffee you were drinking almost came out your nose.

Natasha was quieter and if you wanted to be honest, a little intimidating first, but she was friendly towards you. Bucky was very kind as well; he made you feel welcomed and treated you like an old friend. It only increased after he tasted the pie you baked, because – as he said – it made him feel like he was sixteen again.

And thus a trip down memory lane began. It felt relieving that finally, you were no longer the centre of attention. More than an hour passed like minutes with telling old stories. Funny and awkward ones, some interesting and unbelievable even. Steve was very closed about his past and it was rare he shared anything about it—he even kept the nice one to himself. From what his friends told, you learned that he always had been a bit of a loner; even in his childhood and especially later. He was just like this: always worrying, always overthinking. But you also learned that he had been a part of a lot of fun too, he just needed to find the right people for let himself loose a little. None of his friends brought up anything about the past five years; they carefully ignored it like it never happened, and only told about happier times.

By the end, your stomach hurt from laughing and you only had the strength for some weak chuckles. It didn't go unnoticed by Bucky. "I think we broke her."

Steve looked at you as you sank into the couch cushions, laughter lingering on your features and happiness glistening in your eyes. The sight warmed him up and he smiled before he turned back to his friends. "Are you done trying to embarrass me?"

"Trying?" Sam asked. "I'm sorry, but I think we did a very decent job."

While the others laughed, Steve sighed and shook his head. You turned to him to press a kiss on his cheek but almost felt sorry for him when you saw the tip of his ears turned pink.

After Nat and you collected the empty plates and bottles from the coffee table, she followed you to the kitchen. The living room went eerie silent at the moment you were out of sight. Steve took a sip from his beer before he leaned against the backrest with a smile that he couldn't wipe off. So far this day went even better than he thought it would. It felt so natural that you were there with the people he considered his family. Like you belonged there.

"God, I love her," Bucky said slowly. "Steve, you can't let her go."

"He's right."

Bucky's eyes went wide after his friend's words. "Did you agree with me or did I just mishear you?"

Sighing, Sam ignored his question and turned back to Steve. "Seriously. I don't remember the last time I saw you so relaxed around someone."

Steve's face became more serious, but a tiny smile still played on his lips. "I love being with her, I really do. But I'm not completely sure about all of this."

"She can bake Sarah's pie, what more do you want?" Bucky tried to joke, but Steve's features stayed heavy.

"You and I both know the problem isn't her," he said quietly but firmly, picking the label off his beer bottle.

His friends exchanged a quick glance. Only a couple of minutes ago Steve was so carefree; they hoped this time it wasn't temporary. They both wished he could turn his noisy brain off for a while and enjoy what he had.

"She loves being with you. Just look at her," Bucky said, making Steve smile. "We understand it isn't easy for you, and don't do anything you don't want to, but if you both want this…" he trailed off and shrugged, remaining silent for a few seconds. "Don't let her go."

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Nat stood with a smirk on her lips beside you while you were washing the dishes. She wiped each plate dry, watching you from the corner of her eyes as she spoke up. "It's really nice to see you together."

"Really?"

"Yes," she replied kindly, stopping for a few seconds before she went on. "We've been knowing each other for a long time, but it always has been rare seeing him like this. He's so relaxed and comfortable around you, and trust me, with him this is a big deal. He's always so serious and worried. And the past few years…"

"I can imagine," you said as you turned the tap off, wiping your hands dry. "Just compared what he was like when we first met and now."

"Exactly," Nat nodded, smiling again. "He's changed a lot since he met you. I don't know how you did it but keep doing it."

You chuckled. "Sometimes I don't understand either. It isn't easy with him. Sometimes I feel he does everything to push me away."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "That's Steve. He wants the best for us but sometimes he fails to see this is how he hurts us."

You gave a sympathetic smile, understanding well what she meant and what it felt like. Even though you knew he didn't do it on purpose, it hurt what happened between you and him.

"Don't give up on him," Nat said after a short silence. "He just needs time."

"I know and I won't," you said. "We just need to talk about a lot of things."

The living room fell silent immediately when you walked in with Natasha, and you knew they were talking about you. Normally it wouldn't bother you, but Steve looked troubled, and it made you wonder what his friends told him. You quickly chased the negative thoughts away. So far it seemed all of his friends liked you, and it didn't look like they were only faking it.

Nat sat down on the couch just after you did, but jumped up a moment later. "Actually, I think we should go," she said to Sam and Bucky, remembering that you and Steve still had a lot to talk about. "It's getting late."

"Oh, don't leave because of me," you stood up too, but deep down you were thankful that you could finally have some time alone with Steve. The warm goodbyes you exchanged made the worries fade away once again. Each of them gave you a hug and told how glad they were to meet you; they sounded so genuinely honest it made your heart flutter.

The cabin became empty after they left to go back to the hotel in Leadville. The crackling of the fire sounded loud in the quiet afternoon. Steve sat down on the sofa, not too close to you, you noticed, but he had a content smile on his lips. "They love you."

"I love them too," you beamed at him.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Neither of you knew where you should start—there was too much to talk about and both of you were scared of what the other had to tell.

Steve watched as you fiddled with the end of your sleeves. He still wasn't ready yet to say what he needed to say, but he couldn't stand the silence anymore. To break it, he asked the first thing that came to his mind. "Was it good to be back in New York?"

Looking up at him, you shook your head as a no. "It was exhausting. It was so noisy I could only fell asleep with earplugs." Your tone was joking and Steve smiled, but it made him wonder how it would affect him. He still remembered well how his first nights in the woods went: everything was so silent compared to the city that he could only sleep with some background noise. He left the TV on or put on some music for weeks. Now, five years later, even the ticking sound of the clock and the whistling wind could keep him awake.

"It's good to be back here," you said, shaking him out of his thoughts. "I missed this." You looked around the cosy room before your eyes found him again. "But you were right. I really only stayed because of you."

Steve's heart sank to the floor. This is exactly what he was afraid of, but it only became real now, when he heard it from you. No matter how much he wanted you, he didn't want you to give up anything for him. He was ready to argue and tell this, but seeing you still had something to say, he stayed quiet.

You could see he was torn after your words, so you quickly tried to explain yourself. "Steve, if I had never met you, I'd have given up on this and leave after a month. You said that no one should spend so much time alone and you were right. I already started going crazy after a week, but then I met you. I was never alone. I want you to see this. And… yes, I stayed for you as well. Because I love being with you and I care about you. I don't think there's anything wrong with this."

Slowly, Steve shook his head. "There isn't. You didn't do anything wrong and I'm sorry I left you that night. I didn't say that I shouldn't have kissed you because I didn't want to. I really wanted to. I just…" He fell silent and ran his fingers through his hair. You knew it was hard for him to talk about his feelings, but you didn't want to push him. You gave him an encouraging smile when he looked at you, and he sat closer to you. "It was very overwhelming for me. All the emotions… I felt things I didn't know I was still able to feel."

There was sadness in his voice and it made you frown. "Is this bad?"

"No, Y/N. It's good," he said, gently grasping your hand. "It's been too long since someone made me feel like this. It was too much all of sudden, but it isn't bad. I'm just not used to this."

Looking deep into his blue eye, you tightened your hold around his hand. You hesitated, wondering if it was the right time to get everything off your chest. "It's okay, Steve. It's normal. But you can't run away every time something gets too much for you. If you want a break, tell me, but it isn't always the best solution."

"I know," Steve agreed for your surprise; he knew he kept making the same mistake over and over again. He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, and you couldn't stifle a smile at the tenderness of the little gesture. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry. And I'm sorry too if I made you feel rushed. But promise me you'll talk to me. Tell me if something's bothering you, if you want me to leave, if you want to stop. Tell me what you want and what you don't. Because sometimes it's really hard to figure out what's going on in your head."

Steve exhaled a breathy chuckle. Slowly but surely you both felt as all the weight lifted off your shoulders. "I promise. I'll stop pushing you away. You deserve more than that."

"So… does it mean you changed your mind?"

"Yes." The one little word made your pulse quicken and your stomach flutter. "I want to be with you. I just need to go slowly."

"Of course," you said understandingly. "We'll take it as slow as you need it."

After a few seconds of silence, you both let out a deep breath that quickly turned into a laugh. You felt so relieved you actually shivered.

"Now that everything's settled," Steve said, slipping closer to you. "I'm going to kiss you."

You chuckled while he cupped your cheeks, a grin still lingering on your lips as he leaned in. His kiss was soft and sweet, but not as achingly slow as it was the last time. As if most of his worries disappeared.

When his lips left yours, Steve rested his forehead against yours and kept his eyes closed. He was excited and he was scared, but being with you felt so right it put him at ease. The only place he wanted to be was with you.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Warning:_** _Smut_ ahead

* * *

A cold shiver ran down your spine, despite standing in the warm kitchen. Outside, the wind was blowing so hard you could hear it, whistling loudly around the house. It had been snowing so heavily all day that the simple thought of leaving the cabin made you shudder. To ignore the unpleasant noises, you turned music on before walked back to the stove.

Delicious smells filled the room as you prepared Steve's favourite meals, waiting for him to finish his work and spend the night with you. He never asked for it, he never expected it, but you knew he loved when you cooked for him. It was one of those things that made him feel at home, and Steve had never felt himself like this since he moved here.

More than a month passed since you came back to Colorado. You had mixed feelings in the beginning, because even though you were happy, you were scared too. Scared of he will change his mind, scared of he will realize he wasn't ready and never will be.

Sometimes it was tough with him. Steve promised he will talk more about his feelings, and he was truly trying, but it didn't always go so smoothly. He got overwhelmed easily. There were days when he wanted to listen to your voice all day, then late nights when he just wanted silence. Long hours when he longed to hold you in his arms, only to struggle with the tiniest touches a few minutes later. He wanted to step outside his comfort zone, but he had been behind those walls for so long it was harder to destroy them than he thought it would be. As if he didn't know his own boundaries anymore. He wanted to please you, and it gave him a little push, but you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, everything went nicely. You had many dates; real dates in nice restaurants, coffee shops and cinemas. It surprised you he was the one who suggested that you should go out: you knew Steve didn't like to be around too many people and he valued privacy much better.

Soon enough, you both grew to love these dates. Steve was no longer so nervous surrounded by others and he loved every minute he could spend with you. He was a true gentleman—something you could have only seen in cheesy romantic comedies so far. He always opened the door and pulled out the chair for you, walked you to the cottage from the car and kissed you on the porch. He held your hand gently and whispered the sweetest things into your ear.

Even though going to ice skating was nice occasionally, you both preferred to stay in the house in the frosty January weather. Cooking together with Steve could be a lot of fun, because while he wasn't bad at it, trying anything new could easily make his head ache.

Steve, as one of the biggest movie nerds you had ever met, made it his number one mission to show you all of his old favourites. You loved these dates too, when you just cuddled up on the couch with some popcorn or a hot beverage. However, as the time passed, it became rarer that you could finish a whole movie without ending up pressed between the sofa and Steve. What usually started out as innocent kissing grew into a heavy and passionate make-out session very quickly. At first, Steve got flustered easily. He was hesitant and never let his hands stray until you told him he can touch you, and even then, he stayed careful. You let him take control and never pushed him too far. He wanted to take things slow, and you respected his decision.

Dinner was almost ready when you looked at your wristwatch, realizing how late it was already. You frowned a little, but quickly shrugged your worries away. It was always harder to get back from the town during winter: Steve had told you how many times he couldn't even go to work. But as much as you tried to stay calm, you caught yourself glancing on your phone or checking the time in every five minutes. The snow was falling so furiously you knew the roads were already too dangerous.

When the food went cold and you couldn't sit tight anymore, you called Steve—only to hear the voicemail. Locking your phone, you sighed and plopped down on the sofa. The fact that you couldn't even reach him made you more scared than you already were.

To keep your mind occupied, you turned the radio on and listened to the local news, but you quickly realized that it was a bad idea. There were reports of a few minor accidents and a serious one. It sent your pulse racing, and you turned the radio off; you had heard enough.

Suddenly, you really hated Colorado.

When you finally heard three rapid knocks on the door, your heart almost jumped out of your chest. Gasping, you hurried through the house and when you saw Steve, safe and sound, a huge weight lifted off your shoulders.

Steve could see as at least three different emotions washed over your features. "I'm so sorry," he breathed out as he stepped in, quickly closing the door to keep the cold air from filling the room. "I wanted to call you but my phone died."

"I know, I tried to call you," you said, feeling a shiver of relief. "I heard the news."

Steve sighed and shook his head while he took his coat off. "Most of the roads are impassable. I saw two accidents. I thought…" he cut off, because as he turned to you, he could see the fear that still lingered in the depth of your eyes. He wanted to say he almost drifted off the road a couple times, but he changed his mind. "I thought I'll stuck there for a couple more hours."

"But are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Steve reassured you with a soft smile, stepping closer to cup your cheeks and kiss your lips before he pulled you into a comforting hug.

Steve looked extremely tired. If he wasn't so hungry, you were sure he would easily fell asleep in the chair. After he finished eating, he blinked slowly, sleepily, resting his elbows on the table. When you reached out to stroke his cheek, he smiled and kissed your wrist.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Biting your lip, you pulled your arm back. You didn't like the sound of this, but tried to hide your worry.

"This snowstorm will only get worse. I can't even go to work until it stops," he said. You knew the roads will be closed—if they weren't already. "So if you… if you want to stay with me for a few days…"

"Oh," you squirmed in your chair. While you would love to be with him, especially in these circumstances, you weren't sure if it was comfortable for him. "I mean… are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I don't know," Steve said with a sheepish smile. "I just don't think you should be alone when it gets worse. Last year I had no electricity and I couldn't leave the house for a week."

He couldn't miss the way your eyes widen. The simple thought of spending days alone, in a dark house, in the middle of nowhere while there's an angry snowstorm out there unnerved you for sure.

"In that case I'd really feel safer with you," you admitted. "But are you sure I won't bother you?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve shook his head. "It'll be a nightmare to be with you."

Chuckling, you gently swatted his shoulder with the back of your hand. "I'm serious. I know you like being alone."

Steve frowned. He still spent a lot of time by himself—sometimes he simply needed it, but he loved spending time with you. He felt guilty for not showing it enough for you to know this. "Listen," he sighed and leaned closer above the table. "Forget about me. I don't want you to be alone now."

You gave him a thankful smile, appreciating that he put you first.

Steve told you it would be better to move tonight, because if the snow keeps falling like this all night, you might won't be able to leave the house tomorrow. You took his advice, and after he helped you to pack up some clothes and other things you will need for a few days, you left your cabin and made your way to his.

The little time you spent outside was more than enough of this weather. The freezing cold wind blew the snow into your face, making it harder to see. When you finally stepped into Steve's house, you were still shivering.

"And I thought Stephen King just exaggerated," you said through gritted teeth, hands hidden in your pockets.

Steve smiled and helped you out of your coat, rubbing your arms up and down to warm you up. "How about I help you sort out your things and then we watch The Shining?"

It was past midnight when you finally fell into bed. While you tried to get comfortable on the hard mattress, Steve climbed out of the shower, reaching for a towel to dry his body. The tile floor was cold under his feet, but a warm sensation washed over him. The scent of your lotion still lingered in the air, your toothbrush on the side of the sink. When he left the bathroom, he was still smiling.

"Steve," you sighed as he lay down next to you. "Your bed is so uncomfortable."

"It's good for your spine," he said, poking your side and making you laugh.

"You sound like an old man."

He opened his arms, inviting, his smile light-hearted but caring. You rolled to him, pressing as close to him as you could while he draped the comforter over the both of you. The wind was still blowing furiously outside and the noise sent a shudder through you. Steve rubbed tender, soothing circles between your shoulder blades, and as you felt your body melting, you let out a soft sound of pleasure. It made him smile and he nuzzled your hair.

"You still love this place?"

With a quiet laugh, you looked up at him. "It's a small price to pay."

As he gazed into your eyes in the dimly lit room, Steve noticed as your features slowly changed, from playful to serious. He was always very attentive and he could never miss the small signs of your body language.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Clutching the front of his sleeping shirt, you shook your head, but you couldn't look away from his cerulean eyes. The feeling was there, maybe stronger than ever before, and you couldn't brush it off. "I think I'm in love with you."

Steve froze. His hand stopped on the middle of your back. _You loved him_ —it felt so good to hear it warmed him from head to toe, but as the moments passed, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He closed his eyes and gently squeezed you closer. He knew he couldn't say it back, not yet. It wasn't because he had doubts—he hadn't any. It was just the way he was: because he never heard it from many people, and even the few who loved him told him very rarely. Steve didn't mind it. He always thought actions were more important than words. But he knew it meant a lot for others.

When he opened his mouth, struggle in his eyes, you placed your fingertips on his lips. "Don't make excuses. I don't want to make you feel like you have to say it back. It's just… I know what I feel and I wanted to say it. I wanted you to know it."

Steve kissed your palm, turned the lights off, then hold you close. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fell asleep so easily.

* * *

The vicious snowstorm lasted for nearly a week. The snow and the wind increased day by day, making it feel like the storm will never stop. It was frosty and unpleasant, even watching it from inside. Thankfully, you had a great company to keep your mind busy.

Spending these days together was like having a mini vacation. Steve only took time off from work if he was sick or if the roads were closed, and both happened quite rarely. While he always enjoyed being with you, he knew himself, and he was more than a little scared of spending days and nights together, considering he made it very clear he wanted to take things slow. But somehow, it didn't feel too early or rushed. He didn't have the feeling he wanted to stop and ran away from these feelings, from you. It just felt right.

He would be lying if he said it didn't surprise him that everything went so smoothly. Steve knew he should let himself enjoy the good things without overthinking it, but he couldn't help it. His thoughts wandered every time he was alone for more than five minutes.

"I can practically see your mind race," you said, sitting up on the kitchen counter while Steve washed the dishes. The sweet smell of freshly baked cookies filled the entire house.

Steve turned to you, a little disoriented as you shook him out of his thoughts. He chuckled then, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

"Tell me," you whined. If he was thinking about something so hard, it was never "nothing".

Turning the tap off, Steve sighed. He glanced at you, before he looked around the room, as if trying to find a way to express himself. He wished it was easier, that he could tell all those things he was thinking of, but putting his thoughts into words had never been easy for him. Even the thought of saying something so intimate made him sweat.

His eyes fell on the dining table where all your stuff scattered around: pens, papers, notebooks; and his heart swell. Steve was neat and organized, but the mess you made filled him with that homely feeling again he felt so many times in the past few days.

"I've been thinking… how you find anything when you need it…" he drawled, and you followed his gaze. "In that mess?"

You rolled your eyes. "This is what you've been thinking about? And very easily, by the way."

Steve kept smiling, closing the small distance between you and standing between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs. "Don't lie. You haven't even touched that pile since the first day you came here."

"Don't change the subject."

"I just don't want you to procrastinate because of me," he said, avoiding your eyes. He looked nervous now and he made a motion of taking a step back, but you wrapped your arms around his neck so he wouldn't escape.

"It's so adorable that you think I wouldn't procrastinate if I was alone."

Steve pouted like a child. "And here I thought I was special."

"Not at all," you said seriously, slowly shaking your head, before you both broke into a laugh. Steve pulled you close by your legs, kissing the lightness of the humour away.

After he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, lost in the feeling as your fingertips brushed his nape. When he looked at you, he could still see the question lingering in your eyes, but you didn't push him.

And then, suddenly, all the lights went out. You expected it—Steve was even surprised you had electricity in these circumstances. Enough natural light shone through the windows to see, but it was getting late.

Steve lifted you off the counter so suddenly you couldn't stifle a shriek. You quickly wrapped your legs around him, but he held you tightly, yet so easily like you weighed nothing.

"We should find some candles," he said nonchalantly, carrying you out of the kitchen.

"Steve," you giggled. "Put me down."

He stopped and let go of your legs for a moment, enough to make you scream before he caught you.

"Don't do that again!" You yelled, eyes wide, but a tiny smile lifted the corner of your lips.

"Sorry." Steve didn't sound sorry at all as he continued his way to the living room, grinning as he dropped you down the couch. His hands were still on you, his knee between your thighs as he leaned to kiss you. It was hungry and needy and made your head spin. Unable to stop yourself, your arms slid down his back and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him down. In answer, Steve moaned softly, sending a shudder through your body.

He slowed down then, leaving a few, small kisses on your lips, before he stood up from the sofa. "I'll… the candles."

Sitting up, you gave a nod, fighting back a grin. Steve looked adorable when he got flustered. You adjusted your clothes and took a deep breath before followed him to the bedroom.

He placed candles on the nightstand and a few on the desk. It wasn't completely dark outside yet, but he lit them anyway. Watching him, you felt thankful–and a little embarrassed–because you were sure there weren't any candles at your cabin.

Steve lay down on the bed and you followed him, resting your head on his arm. The candles gave a warm light to the room, the shadows of flickering flames dancing on the walls. For long minutes, neither of you said anything. Maybe he wanted to be alone again, you thought, that's why he was so strange earlier. In the past few days, you both had your alone-time, but maybe it wasn't enough for him. You'd never spent so much time together before.

As if he had just read your mind, Steve reached his free arm out, taking your hand that you rested on your stomach. The way he gently played with your fingers made you smile.

"I know I don't say it enough," Steve said, making you to turn to him. He had an apologetic look in his eyes. "But I love being with you."

You shifted closer to him, softly pecking his lips. "You make me feel it."

Steve smiled. He felt his body relaxing after your honest answer. He pressed his lips to yours, this time slowly, like you had all the time in the world. When the position got uncomfortable, he leaned over you, pressing you back into the mattress. You sank your fingers into his hair and he sighed with pleasure, deepening the kiss.

His hand moved up and down your side, each pass raising your sweater higher. You quivered when you felt his fingers on your bare stomach, brushing lightly before his hand gripped your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. It got so deep, so passionate soon that you had to pull back to take a deep breath, but Steve couldn't get enough of you. His lips grazed along your jaw, leaving warm, wet kisses down your neck. He found a spot that made you whimper so he focused on that, before he moved lower, pulling the sweater aside over one shoulder.

It took a great deal of self-control to hold yourself back. Steve touched you in all the right places, nibbling and licking the most sensitive spots. His hand was large and strong and felt amazing all over you.

You had been there before, and you knew he could slow down and stop in any minute. You knew that, but his kisses were so intoxicating you could only focus on the moment, on how good he felt. He moved then, and you thought he wanted to stop, but he lay down on his back and pulled you with him so you could straddle his hips. His lips were red and swollen, his eyes darkened and filled with a desire that made you shiver in anticipation.

As you leaned down to capture his lips with yours, his hands firmly on your waist, you felt him getting hard in his sweatpants. You longed to grind against him and you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, causing him to moan into your mouth. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sweater so you sat up, pulled it over your head and tossed it aside.

When you kissed him again, Steve's lips moved slowly, almost hesitantly against yours. It made you to pull back.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No. I want you." His answer came almost immediately and from somewhere so deep your entire body trembled into it. "Do you?"

A needy kiss was your answer. He wrapped an arm around you, keeping you close while he sat up. He trailed kisses down your neck, nibbled at the smooth skin, down to your chest. Your fingers lost in his hair, tugging gently while his hands slowly slid up your back, fiddling a little clumsily with the clasp on your bra, before he finally discarded that too.

Steve let his eyes roam for a moment before his mouth was on you again, kissing his way down the valley of your breasts. His lips were soft but his beard ticked, and you couldn't stifle a light-hearted laugh.

"Sorry," Steve mumbled and you could feel him smiling against your skin.

He spent an eternity like this, nibbling and licking your breasts, revelling in the sounds you made. He loved every little whimper and moan and all he wanted was to draw more out of you.

"Steve," you breathed out, weakly tugging at his black t-shirt while his lips were still on you. He took the hint and stopped, yanked his shirt off and threw it somewhere behind your back. While kissing him, your hands slid down his chest, feeling the hard muscles, pushing him until his back hit the headboard. You left a trail of kisses along his jaw, down to his neck that made the goosebumps break out across his skin.

Your fingertips skimmed down, brushing along the waistband of his grey sweats. His pulse quickened, if it was still possible, and you felt his grip tightening on your waist. Sliding your hand inside his pants, you listened as the breath caught in his throat as you took him into your hand. He was rock hard and hot, and it made your insides clenching with need, heat pooling between your legs. Your hips shifted, rocking against his thigh while you stroked his cock slowly. When you looked up at him, his lust filled eyes shot open, his otherwise pale cheeks flushed pink. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before tugged his pants down for better access.

Steve desperately wanted more while savouring every moment at the same time. He kept himself back from bucking his hips up, into your hand, which made him whimpering weakly. If he opened his eyes, he would see the way you chewed your lips, fighting back the moans that wanted to escape by only seeing him like this, so helpless and so aroused. But he squeezed his eyes shut, too busy trying to hold himself back from coming apart so soon.

He couldn't help it. Your fingers were so small and so delicate. Your grip firm, your pace almost agonizingly slow. The way you whispered all those things to him, like how big he was and how hard he felt. When you smeared precum over his throbbing tip and when you used both hands to stroke him. It was all driving him crazy, and he almost lost it when you moved lower and leaned down, taking him into your mouth.

Steve watched you now, because he couldn't keep his eyes off the way you pleasured him with your tongue and your lips. While his left hand gripped the sheets, his right came to your face, moving loose strands of hair out of the way, caressing your cheek. You felt as his whole body shuddered under your touch; his hips carefully moving despite all of his effort while his hand lost in your hair.

He panted your name, gently trying to pull your head back. "I'm close, Y/N, I'm going to—"

The words stuck in his throat as you grasped his wrist and held it down. Steve didn't even try to free his hand; he squeezed his eyes shut and let himself go while you stroked him fast with his tip on your tongue. A groan came from somewhere deep in his chest as he spilled into your mouth, his body tensing for long, never-ending moments before going limp.

Kissing your way up his stomach, you sat between his legs and watched him with a smile. Steve rested his head against the headboard, mouth slightly open. His heart thudded in his chest while he inhaled deeply, slowing his breathing down. His eyes fluttered open when he felt your body leaning against his, as if he just realized it was the reality and not only some kind of dream.

Steve's lips curved in a slow smile, but his movements were quick as he pinned you down to the bed. His kiss was so searing you could feel every inch of your skin tingling with pleasure. You loved the hot and heavy weight of his body on yours.

He pulled back to catch his breath, but left kisses on your cheeks, down your neck and over your chest. He cupped your breasts, gently kneading and caressing, his calloused fingertips playing with your hard nipples. He continued until you were arching and whimpering beneath him, your fingers digging into his biceps.

Steve took his time, like he wanted to worship every inch of you. His lips grazed down and as you shuddered, you felt him smiling against your belly. His pace was languid, until he suddenly kneeled up and pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, making you yelp. He put his hands on your knees, his thumb drawing circles, but waited until you slowly parted them before he moved to lie between your legs.

He trailed tender kisses down your lower abdomen to your inner thighs. You squirmed, wanting more but loving the way he handled you. Every time he touched you, he was so gentle and careful, like he was afraid he would hurt you.

Steve lifted his head, his palm slid up your left thigh. He slid his thumb lightly between your wet folds, drawing a sigh of pleasure from you. His touch, his heavy stare, his hot breath hitting your skin made you shudder.

"Steve," you said a little hesitantly when he kissed the top of your mound. "You don't have to… if you don't want to."

Steve looked up at you with raised eyebrows, because at the moment, he couldn't imagine a better place to be than between your legs. He knew what you meant—that you thought it was too much for him. And it was true: it was a lot, but he didn't want to stop. He felt as he could never get enough of you.

He crawled up and lay down next to you, cupping your cheek and rubbing your skin with his thumb. While his hand wandered down, he whispered between loving kisses that how badly he wanted you, all of you. After he kissed your worries away, when he felt your body relaxed under his touch, he moved down again. Steve hooked his arms under your thighs and you let out a soft moan when he ran his tongue through your slick folds.

Just like you did, Steve felt himself weak in the knees, because you smelled and tasted so good, and the sounds you made sent a shiver down his spine. He started out slowly, just tasting and teasing, but the more aroused you got, the more eager he became, too. He was very attentive, noting every little gasp and jolt of your body.

Running your fingers through his hair, you panted his name as he licked and sucked on your clit. You were so worked up you could already feel the first wave of your orgasm approaching. Your hips bucked and your back arched off the bed, but Steve easily held you down. He groaned as one of your hands tightened in his hair, the other scratching his arm that was over your belly.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you chanted his name breathlessly, your thighs clenching around his head before they went too weak and all you could do was let out shaky moans. Your hands fell on the sheets, but Steve didn't give you time to catch your breath. He slowed down, mindful of how sensitive you had become. He rubbed gentle circles around your throbbing pussy, sucking your labia between his lips. You jolted in pleasure when he slid a finger inside you, thrusting in and out ever so slowly.

Your hand came to wrap around his wrist when he added another finger, his thumb brushing your clit. He slid them in and out, delicately, teasing you into a frenzy. You asked him to curl his fingers and he did, pressing deeper until his fingertips touched the spot that made you gasp.

"Oh, Steve. There."

The words came out so desperately Steve couldn't stifle a groan. He dipped his head and sucked on your clit while his fingertips brushed against your most sensitive spots. It didn't take long until you became restless again and he had to press you down, but when he felt you were close, he stopped and pulled his fingers out.

Before you could complain, you felt as Steve kissed his way up your body. When you opened your eyes, he smiled down at you and you cupped his cheeks, pulling him down for a hungry kiss. Tasting yourself on his lips and feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your opening made you quiver with need.

"I want you," you said at the same time Steve reached into the nightstand, his nimble fingers searching while your lips were attached to his neck. He returned to kissing you after he pulled a condom out of the drawer, his free hand caressing your side.

Steve kneeled up between your legs and ran his hands up your thighs, pushing them further apart. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open the foil package with his nervous fingers. Biting your bottom tip to stifle a smile, you reached for it and tore it open, before handed it back to him. He gave you a thankful, but bashful smile, before rolled it down his length.

He lowered his chest until it was touching yours. You pushed the loose strands of hair out of his face, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slid his tip up and down between your folds.

"Steve..." you whined into his ear and he stopped at your entrance, kissing your lips while he slowly pushed into you.

While Steve was very careful, he was big and met resistance almost immediately. He pulled his head back, searching your face for any sign of doubt or pain, but you only encouraged him to keep going. He gripped the sheets as he slid in slowly, agonizingly so, inch by inch. His forehead fell gently to rest against yours when he was all the way inside you. He closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling of how hot and tight you felt around him.

Steve gave you time to adjust his thickness, kissing the most sensitive spots on your neck. He learned quickly which parts of your body he needed to touch to make you want more and more of him. He didn't move his hips until you wiggled yours, letting him know you were ready.

The first few thrusts were just like the first one: so cautious that soon, you could scream for more. When he felt your hips moving to meet with his, Steve picked up a steady, but slow pace. He switched between trailing kissed down your neck and looking so deep into your eyes it made you dizzy with pleasure.

"Oh, God, you feel so good," Steve breathed out into your ear, making you shudder. You wrapped a leg around his small waist, your fingers tightening in his locks. He took one of your hands out of his hair, pinning it down to the mattress as he intertwined with fingers with yours, desperate to hold on to something.

Your soft moans filled the room, music to Steve's ears as you begged him not to stop. You both slipped into a wonderful bliss, bare, sweat soaked skin gliding over one another. Steve reached down with his free hand, pressing his fingers to your sensitive little bud that instantly made your body jolt. You knew he was close when his breaths came in sharp, shallow pants, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

It took every ounce of self-control to hold himself back, rubbing your clit to bring you closer to your orgasm. He almost immediately collapsed on top of you when he felt it: your legs tightening around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulder, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. You were still shaking from head to toe as he reached his high, throbbing and pulsating inside you. Your hips were still moving against each other, your bodies refusing to calm after the intense sensation that still lingered there.

Soon and slowly you both stopped, panting heavily and unable to move anymore. Steve's head fell on your chest and he could feel your heart drumming loudly in your chest. With every breath he took, his entire body trembled like a leaf.

"Steve," you whispered, gently threading your fingers through his hair. "You're a little heavy."

"I'm sorry," he said in a hushed voice and collected his remained strength to lift himself. He slowly pulled out of you and fell onto his back with a deep sigh.

It felt great you could finally breathe normally, but you already missed the warmth of his body. You made a movement to roll over and snuggle up to him, but then you felt as the mattress moved as Steve got out of the bed. Suddenly, your heart sank to the floor, and you turned to your stomach, burying your head into the cold pillow.

But Steve only disappeared for a few seconds before he already returned from the bathroom. You let out a sigh of relief when he lay down close to you, leaving tender kisses on your shoulder. You grinned into the pillow, goosebumps prickling across your skin as he brushed his fingertips down your spine. He peppered kisses all over your lower back and caressed your body with gentle touches. You turned to him when he nuzzled your shoulder, a smile on his lips, his palm sliding up and down your back.

You lost track of time and were not sure how long you lay there, enjoying each other's caring touches. His eyelids got heavier, and he knew he could fall asleep in any minute, and yet, when the words passed his lips, he was wide awake again.

"I want you again."

Steve chuckled weakly before he let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Okay. Give me a minute. Or an hour."

But he didn't need an hour; he barely even needed a minute. He let you push him down on his back and straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss him deeply, but excruciatingly slowly. Soft kisses always pulled content sighs out of him. His hands stroked your back and your sides, fingertips gently brushing your skin. Your lips wandered down along his jaw, quickly finding that spot on his neck that made his body shudder and his hold tighten around you.

You left feather-light touches all the way down from his neck to clavicle, to his chest and to his stomach, slowing down around his lower abdomen. His breath quickened, and he felt as your lips curved into a smile against the sensitive skin of his neck. By the time you took him into your hand, he was getting hard again.

"Still need time?"

Steve groaned with a smile, cupping your cheeks to pull your face up to a hungry kiss.

* * *

The wind stopped whistling, the smaller candles burned down, giving place only to silence and darkness. Steve stroked your back soothingly, nuzzled your neck and lifted your hand to kiss your knuckles while you rested quietly in his arms. He usually never showed so much affection, and it made you wonder when he will realize it was getting too much; when he will stop. Deep down, you hoped he won't: you hoped you could both sleep through the night in each other's embrace. You loved the warmth of his body, the delicate touches of his strong hands, the tiny, lazy kisses he left on your skin. It was all so loving.

Only when you could barely keep your eyes open anymore, when you slowly drifted off to sleep, when he didn't caress you anymore, you felt he was squirming. Not much—you could barely notice. But you did, and you knew that was it—he was struggling again.

You slowly rolled off him, back facing him, letting his arms slip off your body. In the silent night, you could hear as a sigh left his lips, before he sat up on the bed and draped the comforter over your naked form.

When Steve woke up in the following morning, still too early for being awake judging by the pale light that steamed in through the curtains, you were still sleeping. Loose strands of your hair covered his arm. With a sleepy smile, he carefully moved them out of the way and inched closer under the covers. He ached to hold you and shivered in content when he could finally slip his arm around you and press his body against yours. It didn't wake you up and Steve could only hope he didn't push you away last night.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you for commenting, you're the best! There'll be one more chapter and an epilogue. Meanwhile, I'm preparing a new story (tattoo artist Steve Rogers** x **florist OFC), that I hopefully will post after I closed this one. :)**

* * *

If you had learned one thing these past few days, you learned you can never wake up early enough to find Steve sleeping soundly. Sometimes, by the time you opened your eyes, he'd already returned from the kitchen with a plate of food. Sometimes, he sat next to you on the sheets, reading or drawing for hours before you finally rolled over to him. On most days, however, he loved to lay and hold you in his arms while you were still asleep, listening to your steady breathing and watching your peaceful features.

When you woke up this morning, it didn't come as a surprise you found Steve's side of the bed empty. You waited, hoping that he only left to make some coffee or breakfast, but half an hour was enough to realize that wasn't the case. The cabin was quiet—strangely so, actually. Only when you lifted your head from the pillow and looked through the window, you realized why: the snowstorm finally stopped.

After a long, hot shower, you wanted nothing but crawl back under the covers and sleep through the rest of the morning. As much as you hated to admit, you were scared of talking to Steve; mainly because it didn't seem like he wanted to talk at all.

It wasn't okay. He needed to learn he couldn't just turn his head away and bury his thoughts and feelings so deep where no one could pull out of him. He needed to learn how to express himself through words. He needed to learn there was nothing wrong with being vulnerable sometimes. By now, you knew it wasn't just the result of the past five years—Steve had always been like this. He believed he had to seem strong and in control of his emotions all the time. When he felt he couldn't hold himself any longer, when he felt he was getting angry or depressed or overwhelmed by emotions, he isolated himself from others so no one could see him.

While you knew it wasn't just a bad habit he could shake off overnight, you wanted to make him understand he needed to change. Not only because this behaviour wasn't healthy and good for him, but also because it wasn't just about him anymore. You were a couple—it wasn't right he still closed up on you.

The kitchen and the living room were both silent and empty. Frowning to yourself, you were just about to go to the basement and check if Steve was there when the front door opened. Thor ran into the house before Steve could hold him back; melting snow dripping from his fur, leaving slush and puddles of water all over the floor. You knew the dog was going to jump at you and he did, bouncing up and down and crashing his paws against your thighs. It seemed as Thor wasn't aware of how big he was – he loved to sit on people's lap like a small cat and could easily knocked you off your legs on a daily basis.

Steve grabbed his overexcited dog and pulled him off of you, murmuring a sorry before he led him close to the fireplace where he wiped him dry with a towel.

"I was shovelling snow all morning," he said. The cold air tinted his cheeks red, his hair messy as he took his hat off. "The storm stopped but we still don't have electricity."

"That's great," you said nonchalantly as walked to the kitchen counter, silently cursing yourself for doing the same thing that he did.

Steve looked up but he could only see your back while you filled the coffeemaker with water. He heaved a sigh, knowing well he screwed up but having no idea how he should handle the situation. After he mopped up the mess that Thor did, he walked to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Immediately, you pulled away with a noise that was somewhere between a shriek and a giggle. "You're cold!"

In answer, Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his frozen cheeks into your neck, making you scream and laugh in turn as you tried and failed to push him away. He watched you after he pulled back, his hand lingering on your back, but you avoided his gaze, and it made him to take a step a back.

"Are you hungry?"

Stirring your coffee, you nodded, silently scolding yourself for staying quiet instead of telling what was bothering you. The way Steve acted oh-so-casually made your stomach ache. Did he really think everything was fine? Maybe he didn't even realize what he did was hurting you. Or, on the contrary: it wasn't fine and he rather closed up on you than saying anything. God, you had no idea how he was doing this all the time: a few hours of keeping your thoughts to yourself and it was already driving you crazy.

"Steve," you said his name when you couldn't stand the silence anymore. He turned to you with a concerned frown, because you sounded so desperate all of a sudden. "Do you regret what happened last night?"

"No!" He replied instantly, frozen with plates and cutlery in his hands. "No, of course I don't."

"I just… I feel like you distanced yourself from me. Again."

Steve put down everything he was holding, scared he'd accidentally drop them with his shaking hands. "I'm sorry. I… you're right. I probably did. It was just—"

"Let me guess," you cut him off quietly. "Too much?"

It wasn't your intention to sound bitter and you regretted at the moment you said it out loud, but it was too late. Steve bowed his head and stared the floor, a hand on his hip while the other gripped the edge of the countertop. He tried to collect his thoughts, but his mind went blank. While he knew saying something so many times made it sound like it was nothing more than a poor excuse, he thought you understood him.

"Listen, Steve. I know you aren't used to many things… and it's fine. It is. But you can't shut me out every time this happens!" You placed your mug down and stepped closer to him. He lifted his head, sadness glistening in his eyes. "I'm trying to be patient, but it's not okay that you push me away, then you act like nothing happened."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said so quietly as if his voice could break in any second. Steve was disappointed in himself; he wanted this to work so much between you and him and the fact he kept screwing it up all the time made him feel terrible.

"I know," you breathed out, running your palm down his arm. The small contact soothed him, but it didn't take long; what you said next made his pulse kick up a notch. "I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

Biting your lip, you shook your head and turned away from him for a few short moments that seemed like an eternity for him. "You know how I feel about you. I'm already so deep into this and I'm afraid one day you'll push me away for good."

"That's not going to happen," Steve said firmly, holding your face between his palms. He brushed his thumbs across your cheeks before he let you go. "I want to stay with you. Just tell me—help me how I could be better at this."

You smiled weakly, because all of a sudden, he seemed so lost and vulnerable. It was rare to see him like this and he almost never asked of help. Sometimes you felt Steve had absolutely no idea how relationships worked.

"Come," you led him to the couch and Steve followed you without a word. "For a start," you said, taking his hand into yours after you settled down. "Just talk to me. I know you're trying, but I think you still don't understand what I meant. When I ask how you are, you always say you're fine. Even when I can see you're so tired you can hardly stand anymore. Don't do that! Tell me how exhausted you are and tell me you had a shitty day at work."

Steve chuckled quietly and leaned back against the sofa. "I just don't want to complain."

"Why not? I complain about my book all the time. Am I annoying? Don't answer that," you held up your hand before Steve could open his mouth, but he intertwined his fingers with yours.

"You're not annoying," he kissed your knuckles, watching you with a loving smile.

For a while, you both remained silent. You were glad it was no longer awkward, but you still had much to talk about. "I just want you to understand that it's okay not to be okay. It's okay to fall apart sometimes. And I know sometimes it feels better not to talk at all, but you can't do this all the time."

Steve couldn't say anything first. What you told him made his heart swell, almost painfully, filling his eyes with tears. Not wanting you to see him cry, he turned away to take a deep breath. He wasn't sure why your words affected him so much, but they did, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this. A great burden was lifted off his shoulders and he felt like he was walking on air. It was dizzying. He'd carried so much weight on his shoulders for so long.

He shivered when you touched his cheek, turning his face to you. When your eyes met, he let a few tears to fall out, but he didn't look sad. An almost invisible smiled lifted the right corner of his lips, and you understood they were tears of relief. You brushed them away and pulled him into a tight hug. Steve said thank you, but it sounded more like an apology.

The days quickly turned into weeks, and within a blink of an eye, two months had passed. It was still cold up in the mountains, but the snow slowly melted away and you could feel the warm rays of the sun on your skin more and more often. When you first came here, nearly six months ago, you didn't think you'd stay here for so long. It was crazy to think of how everything had changed in such a short time, making it feel like years went by since you got lost in the forest.

Steve was true to his promise. Opening up and learning to talk about his feelings was still hard for him, but after he realized how much depended on it, he was determined to give in everything he could. You didn't rush him. You told him it was okay to take baby steps and he doesn't have to change overnight—it wasn't possible anyway. Hurrying would only lead to more repressed emotions.

Steve's alarm woke you up at four in the morning, making you want to scream even before you opened your eyes. With your face pressed against his back, you tightened your hold around his bare chest and nudged his leg with your feet until he finally turned his phone off. He lazily turned around and tugged you close, before you both fell back to sleep very quickly.

Things didn't exactly go as expected last night. Knowing how exhausting Steve's job could be, your plan was easy: have a nice dinner, maybe watch a movie after. But when Steve arrived late afternoon, you were still sitting in front of your laptop. You were so engrossed in writing you didn't realize the time, you forgot to eat, and functioned only on coffee all day.

After you made some food together, Steve had the wonderful idea that you should take a hot bath and drink a glass of wine. It sounded amazing and became even better when he joined you in the bathtub. One glass followed another until you had no wine left, but unfortunately, you found a bottle of champagne. It was a terrible combination, but after all the work, you just wanted to turn your mind off for a while.

At least this was what you told Steve. He was so genuinely happy every time you talked about the progress you made with your book it made your heart swell with joy. It really did, but it wasn't cloudless; not when you thought about how close you were to finish your novel, the thing that brought you here in the first place. While you both worked hard on what you had now, neither of you talked about the future. Even if you had months until finishing the story, you knew you couldn't stay here forever, unemployed and far away from friends and family. Thinking about it, you had no idea how you always managed to avoid talking about this.

Ten minutes later the alarm rang again, making the both of you groan. You had no idea how Steve woke up every day at these ungodly hours. He was an early bird—he usually got up very easily, gave you a soft kiss, and was long gone by the time you woke up again.

This morning wasn't easy for him either. He spent long minutes laying on his back, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. When he threw the blanket off his body and tried to get out of the bed, you snuggled up to him, resting your head on his chest.

"Stay here."

"I have to go to work."

"You can take a day off," you whined, looking up at him from under your lashes in the shadowy room. You knew well he almost never took time off from work. "Please."

Steve looked through the window with a sigh. It was still dark outside; the room was cold as nothing covered him, his head ached, but you were so warm and he wanted nothing more than spending the day in bed with you.

"My boss will think that I'm dying," he rasped out, but drew you closer and dozed off again minutes later.

When you woke up much later that morning, you found Steve sitting with his back against the headboard, his sketchbook on his lap.

"Morning."

Steve's voice was quiet, deep, but you could hear the smile hiding behind his word while your head was still buried into the pillow. Yawning and stretching while you sat up, you pulled the comforter up to your shoulders. Even though your head still hurt, the sight of him sketching, shirtless, with a light frown creasing his forehead and his hair an absolute mess, brought a smile to your lips.

"Morning," you leaned closer to kiss his cheek and caught a glimpse of what he was working on before he closed the notebook. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Steve ran his fingers through his hair as he always did when he was nervous, avoiding your eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder with a smug smile.

"Is that me?"

Steve sighed in defeat. He knew you will not let it go. "Yeah."

"Let me see."

He handed the book to you and you opened it where his last drawing was: portraying you, sleeping on your side with nothing covering your body. It was so detailed that looking at it almost made you embarrassed.

"So this is what you're doing while I sleep? Drawing me naked?"

Steve chuckled, fiddling with a pencil. "Yeah, I mean no. Just… sometimes."

While you flipped through the pages, Steve was pretty sure he never felt more embarrassed before. He felt like you just found his dirty little secret.

"Wow," you breathed out, completely in awe. You saw his sketches of you before, but never the ones where you were naked. Actually, you had no idea he was drawing you like this from time to time. "You make me look beautiful."

"Because you are beautiful."

"Cheesy," you said, and almost burst into laughter when you looked up and saw his flushed cheeks.

Steve sighed with a small smile and took his sketchbook back. "Can I finish it?"

"Yes!" You threw yourself on the bed, the back of your hand against your forehead. "Draw me like one of your French girls."

Later, after you took a hot shower together, Steve left to the kitchen to make some breakfast. You were still in the bedroom, taking on your clothes when your phone started ringing. The number was unknown, but you picked it up anyway.

Steve didn't understand what was taking so long. When the two of you left the shower, you made it very clear you were starving and you'd sell your soul for a sandwich. He just wanted to check in on you when he heard as the bedroom's door opened, and he immediately noticed something happened. You didn't look angry or sad—you looked surprised and a little lost.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you replied after a deep breath whilst walked to him. It didn't convince him at all. "I got a call from a literary magazine in New York. They offered me a job."

Steve's expression went from surprised to excited very quickly. He knew well that editing one of these magazines was something you'd love to do. "That's amazing! You accepted it, didn't you?"

"Oh, I have to go to an interview first. Next Monday."

While Steve gushed and lavished you with compliments, your smile wasn't completely honest. As Steve mentioned too, it was a great opportunity, and you knew you shouldn't let it slip through your fingers. The woman on the phone told you they thought specifically of you for the job, but right now, it only made you scared rather than excited.

It didn't make it easier at all that Steve seemed so happy; did he not think of where this will leave your relationship? He's not going to ask you to stay, and you were not sure you should ask him to go with you. Leadville had been his safe place for so, so long. Moving back to New York would be a big step.

After you finished your breakfast, you both went silent for a little while. You couldn't read anything off his face, and this was the first time you thought he maybe, finally started to think about what was in your head, too.

"What are we going to do if you get the job?"

Even though you had no idea and you couldn't answer his question, the fact he brought it up first made you smile. It wasn't any easier for him than it was for you, but he was no longer so afraid of talking.

"I have an idea," you said, leaning closer to him. "Come with me to Brooklyn for the weekend. We'll go earlier, spend a few days there, and then we'll talk about this again."

Steve nodded with a smile. The idea of leaving Colorado after five years sounded terrifying, but he had never let fear hold him back.


	11. Chapter 11

A day before you left Leadville, Steve spent his morning in the library. He returned a few books and while he was there, he chose something to read at his favourite spot: an ancient looking but extremely comfortable armchair at the back of the room. Time flew by and only his growling stomach reminded him it was late; he knew he should go back to his place and pack the things he would need for the weekend. He stretched his legs out and put Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett down when a woman pulled a chair closer to the small table and sat down across him.

An old, familiar, uncomfortable feeling came over Steve as he recognized the royal blue cover of The Great Gatsby the woman was holding. Gripping the padded arms of the chair, he squirmed.

While it wasn't one of his favourites, Steve had never found another story that made him feel such strong emotions. Even now, the thought only tightened his chest. He remembered all the three times he had read the novel.

First, when he was in high school. English used to be one of his favourite classes because his teacher taught the students how to use their heads instead of forcing his own opinion on them. Steve was pretty sure the professor was the reason he loved reading so much, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to like The Great Gatsby. He found the plot weak, some scenes too cheesy, Gatsby's inability to move on unrealistic and creepy, and how could that boring girl cause so much drama, anyway?

The second time happened during the first year he spent at an art school. Steve didn't have money for books back then, but he had an English major roommate who gave him everything he didn't need anymore—this is how he got a copy of the novel he disliked so much in the past.

Nevertheless, he gave it another chance, because the story was still popular, he grew older, and perhaps he would see it through different eyes.

And he did. There were still many things he couldn't comprehend and found pointless and ridiculous, but Steve saw then, after he lost a loved one, why would someone cling to the past so badly. In his opinion, it was still overrated and he didn't say he liked it. The only thing it made him feel was uncomfortable sadness, because he understood something he couldn't understand years ago.

He read it again when he lived in Leadville. The town's library was small and sometimes Steve thought he already borrowed every book that grabbed his attention, but one day his eyes stopped on Fitzgerald's name. He realized he never tried anything else from the author. For some reason, he chose The Great Gatsby again. And then, when he finished the book for the third time, this time in one go, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Instead of admitting something was definitely not okay, Steve ignored the problem and buried himself even deeper. Living in the past, just like isolation is lonely and addictive. After a few years, being alone and feeding on old memories instead of seeking new experiences became so natural Steve could no longer see how hollow it was. The more time he spent in isolation, the less lonesome he felt. It was so calm and peaceful and safe; if he felt good by living like this, why would it be wrong?

Then he met you. While you didn't talk much the first time you met, Steve was a good judge of character and there was something in you that caught his attention. Something inexplicable, maybe something insignificant, but enough for bringing up feelings he hadn't experienced in a while. It wasn't a good feeling; he remembered so clearly like it was yesterday: he felt lonely. It burned his chest all night.

Steve realized that day, while he isolated himself from everyone for five years, the world never stopped moving. He stuck in the past, refusing to do anything to move forward even though he knew there was nothing he could do to change what happened. His friends lived their lives, left old jobs and found new ones, moved around, got married and had kids, but for Steve, time stopped.

How did I get here? He asked himself the question more and more often, because it hurt to admit he allowed himself to get so low. He wasn't the kind who gave up; he faced his problems and made a plan to make things better. Grief and guilt drove him away and there was a time when he truly thought taking some time off, away from everything and everyone would help. Steve couldn't tell how it all backfired. What was his solace one day, it became a dreadful reminder of how alone he was. It punched him in the gut, seeing after five years how pointless running away was. Nothing really changed; if anything, his life only turned worse.

It was a terrifying realization of how empty his calm and safe place was, but even then, he thought more about how could this all happened instead of working out a solution. Acknowledging something and making the first step to change it were two, completely different things. He felt lost and hopeless—something he didn't think he would ever experience. It was you who slowly tore his walls down, pushing the right buttons but giving him space when he needed. And it seemed you always knew which one was the best for him. Looking back, Steve didn't know where he would be without you, though he knew there was still a lot of work to do.

As he stared the cover of The Great Gatsby, the old, gut-wrenching feeling returned and washed over Steve. While it was more like a memory, it still felt too strong and vivid, and he understood it was because he still lived more in the past than in the present. It was scary to think of how easily he could relapse, how many times he already did, and he wondered if he could ever go back to normal.

* * *

All kinds of emotions swirled inside you when you arrived to your apartment in New York. The upcoming job interview made you excited and terrified at the same time, just like the thought of spending the weekend here with Steve. While you were hopeful, you couldn't ignore the sting of fear deep inside your chest. Things had been going well, but everything could fall apart in the blink of an eye. It happened before, and the simple memory was enough to make your knees tremble.

After he dropped the bags down in the bedroom, Steve stopped in the living room. His hands were balled into fists, standing still but looking around like he had no idea how he got here. When your gaze met for a second, you could practically see the question in his eyes: what am I doing here? The clueless look he gave scared you for a second and you turned your head away, scurrying into the kitchen. Considering you were both nervous enough, you made tea instead of coffee.

When you finished, Steve was still standing in the same place, with the same expression on his face. It made your heart ache to see how lost he looked, and you were glad you convinced Bonnie to give you some space for this weekend. Giving him one of the mugs, you took his hand and pulled him to sit down with you on the couch.

"How do you feel?" you asked before blew on the hot tea. The way you rubbed his arm up and down seemed to soothe his nerves a little; you could see his features softening.

When you left Leadville, Steve was fine: he talked, he laughed, he even sang with you in the car at one point. His great mood helped you to forget about your own worries in no time. However, the closer you got to the city, the quieter he became, until he went completely silent. You couldn't even imagine how hard it must have been to return here after years of solitude. Realizing it wouldn't be the smartest to push him, you let him be alone with his thoughts for a while, even though his silence drove you crazy.

Steve took a deep breath and released it slowly, staring into the steaming mug. When he lifted his gaze to you, he shook his head. "I don't know." He paused for a few seconds, before a tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips. "Strange."

You weren't sure what to think. What was going on with him exactly? Did he feel good or bad? He sounded sad but there was no lie in his smile. Steve was a quiet type but he could never completely hide his emotions from his face.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned back against the couch, having no intention of leaving the flat. Steve wondered a lot how would it feel to come back to New York, but he never thought it would be so exhausting. "Can we stay in tonight?"

It was late afternoon; you could still go out, even just for a walk. The point of this weekend was to spend a little time outside, amongst other people, not isolated like you did so often; like he did in the past nearly six years.

"Just tonight," he said after your long silence, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing your hand. "We can go anywhere you want tomorrow."

"Anywhere? Be careful what you say." You pulled your legs up on the couch and snuggled closer to him. Suddenly, staying in didn't seem such a bad idea at all, especially after days of driving.

The rest of the night passed quietly. You both avoided talking about the next day, but for different reasons. After you ordered some food and watched a movie, you went to bed early, even though you knew neither of you could fall asleep easily.

Steve's behaviour bothered you the most. It was the first time in a long time you couldn't read anything off his face. Before you left Colorado, you were prepared for everything: deep sadness, emotional breakdowns, an angry outburst; you even pictured him packing his bag and leaving you behind. However, you could see no sign any of these. Steve acted like it was any other day—except he was less talkative. From time to time, you caught him lost deep in his thoughts, but he didn't tell you what he was thinking of, and you didn't pester him. He had a lot to process.

If you didn't fall asleep on him like a human blanket, Steve would have tossed and turned on the sheets through the whole night. It wasn't just the soft bed that kept him up—it was all the noises that came from outside. He was tired, both emotionally and physically, but it took him long hours until he could doze off.

What only felt like a few minutes later, he woke up with a sudden, small jolt. Steve was sure he dreamt something, but it became more distant and foggy with every second, and by the time you looked up at him, he completely forgot about it.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied in a hushed voice, drawing lazy circles on your back. "Go back to sleep."

He didn't need to tell twice; your head fell back on his chest at the moment the words left his lips. Still floating on the edge of sleep, under your ear you heard how rapidly Steve's heart was beating, keeping you awake.

Steve slowed his breaths down and wondered if he should say something. He knew you were still up from the way your hand clutched on his sleeping shirt. When he spoke up, his deep voice sounded loud and heavy in the silent room.

"What are we going to do if you get the job?"

The dreaded question again. Last time you easily avoided answering it—you were even glad he brought it up. During the past few days, you didn't talk about it on purpose, and while you knew you couldn't ignore it forever, you wanted to buy some time. The truth was, you didn't want to think of what's going to happen, because deep down, you had a terrible feeling.

"I don't know, Steve," you told the same thing you told him the first time he asked it, and hoped it was enough for him, but he saw through you.

"Maybe we should talk about this."

Tears filled your eyes, and you gripped his shirt tighter. This was definitely the first time he wanted to talk about something and you didn't. "I don't want to. Please."

Steve sighed and wrapped both of his arms around you, shivering as he heard the tremble behind your words. He wanted to slap himself in the face for not realizing earlier how scared you were. To him, you seemed so happy and excited, and why wouldn't you be? His mind worked all night to find an answer and a solution.

* * *

When you woke up with a headache the next morning, you found the bed empty. The curtains were pulled shut, and the door was closed. Checking the time, you were surprised to see it was already past ten; after last night, you didn't think you would sleep so well. For a few minutes, you sat on the edge of the bed in the silent, dark room, messaging your temples with the tip of your fingers. This trip started so great but now it was dancing on the edge of falling apart, and you weren't ready for the conversation you were about to have.

However, Steve couldn't be found anywhere. The entire apartment stood empty and disturbingly quiet. If you didn't see his bag, you would have thought he left and went back to Colorado.

But how could he go out alone? It's not like someone had to hold his hand wherever he went, but he might need a little emotional support. While you made some coffee, you tried not to overthink it. You already felt guilty for closing up on him last night; it was so hard to peel him out of his shell and the first time he wanted to discuss your future, you refused to talk. One part of you wished you didn't, but you knew your fears won this time. All you wanted was to enjoy this weekend without constantly thinking of what's going to happen once it's over, but you couldn't, because it terrified you.

Just as you left the kitchen with a cup of coffee, you heard keys turning in the lock, before the front door opened. While Steve stepped in, you could feel your jaw drop at the sight: he no longer had his beard and his hair was cut a little shorter, but a lot neater.

"Oh," you managed to get out, placing the cup down before you would accidentally spill the hot liquid on yourself. Steve put your keys down and shrugged out of his coat, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. He looked so completely different; even his smile seemed much happier. "Holy shit. Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?"

"I told him he should get his shit together. He didn't really like it and ran away. That guy. I don't even know why you bothered with him for so long."

"You look so good," you breathed out as if you didn't even hear what he said. The first thing you did when you were close enough was run your fingers through his hair; it was so soft and smooth you didn't want to let him go. Steve blushed and couldn't stifle his grin at your reaction: your eyes still wide and your lips parted, like you were completely in awe.

"And you have a dimple," you whimpered, touching his cheek with the tip of your fingers. "Oh my God."

Steve chuckled, and finally, the heart-warming sound shook you out of your daze. Your hands slid to his shoulders, locking eyes with him. "But… what happened? And why did you go alone? I started to think you left me," you added the last sentence with a laugh, only half-jokingly.

Heaving a sigh, Steve's eyes darkened with worry. He wished he didn't make you feel you had to hold back anything in front of him. "I woke up early and wanted to take a walk… alone. I didn't mean to scare you, I just think I needed this. You helped me so much, you really got me through the worst, but it means a lot to me I could do this by myself. A few months ago I'd have spent the whole weekend in the flat and there's no way you could've talked me into going out."

Seeing your features softening, Steve smiled, too. He kissed your forehead and pressed his palms against the small of your back. "And I would never leave you. If I ever made you feel like—"

"No," you shook your head, biting your lip. "I know you aren't like that. I've been just overthinking all of this." You felt as some of the weight left your shoulders, but there were still so many things left unsaid. "Listen, uhm… about last night—"

"Don't," Steve cut you off quietly, rubbing your back. "You were right. Let's not talk about tomorrow and just have fun today."

"Okay," you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes. What happened to your Steve? Taking a walk alone in the city he avoided for years, dropping into a barbershop without planning it, enjoying the moment without overthinking everything… "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, giving you the most innocent look. He was such a terrible liar. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Well, yeah… but…"

"No buts. It was your idea."

"Fine," you said with a playful smile, though you still had no idea what he had in mind. It was so rare to see him like this, you decided to run with it instead of asking more questions and ruining the mood. "Any plans for today?"

"I told you. I'd go with you anywhere," he replied in such a way that sounded more like a confession. Steve expressed his love in many ways, but he could never say the words, and this was the closest he had gotten so far. It warmed you up from head to toe.

"I'm going to get in the shower," you said, slowly sliding your palms down his arms. Steve gave a short nod, and you had to bite back a smile as you watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "If you want to come with me there too…"

* * *

With closed eyes, you stood in the shower, letting the water run down on your body and melt the tension in your muscles. Steve was right. This weekend was your idea in the first place; it was about time to finally let yourself go a little.

A smile lifted your lips when you heard clinking and shuffling and a few moments later, Steve stepped into the cabin behind you. Before you could turn around, he took the plastic bottle from you and poured shampoo in his hands, gently rubbing it into your hair. The warm, sweet smell that Steve loved so much filled the room. His fingers felt amazing as they massaged your scalp and you could do nothing, but stand there with closed eyes, leaning into his touch. With every passing second, you felt more and more relaxed.

"You like that?"

The weak hum you gave in answer made Steve chuckle, and he didn't stop. He rinsed, then repeated the process. He was so careful not to get shampoo in your eyes or tangle his fingers into the wet, silky strands of your hair.

He moved you farther into the streaming water to wash the foam off your hair. When it was clean, you turned to him, leaning in for a slow kiss. Steve smiled, almost sheepishly as he grabbed the bottle of shower gel and poured some over your shoulder. His eyes wandered and he watched you like this was the first time he saw you without clothes.

Large, warm hands began swirling the gel in circles, rubbing it over your body. He started with your shoulders and he took a step back, carefully lifting your hand to wash over the length of your arm. He rinsed, kissed his way up from your wrist to your neck, then did the same with your left. Your breath caught in your throat from how slow and gentle he was. When his gaze met yours, you saw his light blue eyes turned almost black. The look he gave you made your knees tremble with anticipation.

He trailed his fingers down over the outer curves of your breasts, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin. While you enjoyed his feather-light touches, you craved for more; you made a move to step closer but slipped on the shower tray. Thankfully, Steve was quick to wrap his arms around you before you could fall, pulling your body to his.

He looked at you smugly. "Where are you going, sweetheart?"

"I'm going crazy," you said breathlessly. At this point, you weren't sure what made your pulse race: the way he watched you, the way he touched you, that you almost fell moments ago, or that you felt his hard arousal pressing against you.

He smiled and made sure you were steady before he pulled away, continuing to wash your skin. The tip of his ears turned red while he massaged your breasts, then rubbed the soap down to your stomach and your lower abdomen. After he rinsed again, he leaned down, sliding his palms to your hips. Soft lips brushed gently over your skin and a small sound of pleasure left your mouth.

"I could get used to these showers."

You felt him smiling between the valley of your breasts, peppering kisses down on your belly. While he lowered himself to his knees, Steve wrapped his fingers around your wrists and put your hands on his shoulders.

"Hold onto me."

"Steve," you weakly breathed his name out, tightening your grip on him whilst he slowly pushed your legs apart. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't want to break my neck. Or yours," you said, thinking of that you nearly fell only a few minutes ago.

"Just hold me." His hands rubbed small circles from your foot to your thigh, adding the perfect amount of pressure to it. He was so slow and so sensual, by the time he reached the top of your thigh every inch of you screamed for more. He moved to your other leg then, and you almost cried out in frustration.

A whimper escaped you when Steve finally touched you where you most wanted. His fingers slid through your slick folds, back and forth, but he pulled his hand away too soon. You looked him with pleading eyes while washed the foam off your body. His cheeks were pink, his mouth slightly open, but he had to press his lips together to stifle a smile when he caught your gaze, practically begging without saying anything.

Just when you thought he'd finally end your suffering, his lips moved to your knee, kissing his way up. Inch by inch, agonizingly slowly. "Steven, I swear to God…"

He chuckled, but when he spoke up, his voice was firm. "Be patient."

Steve's lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine and spreading warmth inside your belly at the same time. His smooth jaw felt so unfamiliar but so amazing on your body. He spread your legs further apart and touched your labia; soft, chaste, lingering kisses. You leaned back against the tiled wall, fingers digging into his shoulders. When he finally used his tongue, it was not shy or teasing; he gave in everything that left you speechless. Spine arching in pleasure, you threw your head back, almost knocking it into the wall.

Feeling your knees trembling, Steve stood up and cradled your face, leaning down for a deep, searing kiss. His palms slowly slid down on your sides, pressing firmly, feeling every curve and showing how perfectly you filled his hands. He looked gorgeous with his flushed cheeks and with the water droplets cascading down his muscles. His touch drew a shaky breath out of you, and he turned you to the wall. The tip of his fingers skimmed up on your spine, moving your wet locks out of the way so he could leave kisses on your shoulder and your neck.

Steve wasn't much of a talker, but he always showered you with compliments when you were intimate. He was telling you how beautiful you were, how good you made him feel, and how much he loved the sounds you made. His hands and his words did wonders and by the time he touched you again, you were glad he held you safely against him with his other arm.

While his fingers rubbed circles around your clit, his free hand moved to cup your breasts, massaging them gently. Your feet slid across the floor, carefully, parting your legs to give him better access. His lips moved from your ear to your neck, lavishing you with wet kisses. The sound of your own moan filled the bathroom, echoing around you when Steve pushed two fingers inside you. Slow and deep drags, driving you into a frenzy.

Knees buckling, he kept you closer and tighter, and you felt his heartbeat against your back. Nails digging into his forearm, you reached back with your free arm, taking him into your hand. A broken sound left Steve's lips; somewhere between a moan and a whimper. He buried his face into your neck—partly because he almost disintegrated right here and there, partly because he wanted to stifle his groans.

You tried to remind yourself you were not in the little wooden cabin anymore in the middle of nowhere; you had neighbours and very thin walls, but the delicious stretch of Steve's fingers felt so good, you could hardly control the noises you made. From the little, restrained moans he breathed into your ear, you guessed Steve had the same struggle.

He knew you were close from the way your hips rocked against his hand, desperate for more friction. It felt almost too much and not enough at the same time. Steve loved he could make you feel like this, making everything about you tremble: body, voice, breath. It pushed him closer to the edge, thrusting faster into your hand, but he stopped from time to time, pulling back from your palm, and you knew he was trying to hold himself back.

"Steve. Come with me."

His whole body reacted to those breathless, shaky little words and the feel your walls fluttering around his fingers. His movements became more erratic, stumbling over his words as he groaned something you couldn't get out against your neck. He held you tighter, curling over your form like a shield.

He stayed and waited until you both stopped shaking before his arms left you, leaning back so his chest no longer covered your back. His hands trailed up your arm, fingers gently rubbing your shoulders as he kissed the back of your neck. You felt him smiling; a satisfied little hum rumbling in his throat.

This was the feeling Steve had been looking for but never truly believed he could find it. Relaxed, content. Like he was home.


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: This is the last chapter before the epilogue. :)_**

* * *

Steve wore a gentle smile of satisfaction even after you left the bathroom. A smile it seemed nothing could wipe from his face; not even the scalding hot coffee that burned the tip of his tongue. He just stood in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist, looking like he was having the best day of his life.

"What is it?" He must have noticed the way your eyes couldn't leave him for a single second.

"Nothing," you replied before quickly gulped down your coffee and disappeared in the bathroom again.

You promised yourself you will stop questioning him and just enjoy it while it lasts, but his behaviour was more than a little suspicious. He was definitely up to something. What if it was his way to say goodbye? Maybe he just wanted to make your last weekend together good. The ominous thought sent a shiver up your spine, but you took a deep breath and waved it away. Steve had never lied to you before—he was always honest and playing these kinds of games wasn't like him.

When you dried your hair and left the bathroom, Steve sat on the bed with his back against the wall, reading a novel he found on the nightstand. He fixed his eyes on your form while you rummaged through your closet, wearing only a pair of light pink panties and his red flannel shirt with the buttons left open—which was his favourite outfit on you.

You heard as he snapped the book closed and only a moment later, he reached out to grasp your hips, pulling you closer until you had no choice but sit on his lap. You smiled at him and threaded your fingers through his damp hair, before he leaned in for a kiss. It was soft and chaste first but Steve deepened it soon, laying you down on the sheets. You chuckled into his mouth and he pulled back, kissing his way down on your neck. He pressed his lips to your chest, down the valley of your breasts, and nuzzled your belly.

Again, you couldn't keep in a giggle. "Is this your plan to keep me here?"

You felt him smiling against your hipbone, before he looked up; eyes narrowed and a smug smile curving up the corner of his lips. "I don't know. Is it working?"

"No," you said, sitting up. "I'm starving."

"Well, me too," Steve breathed out, dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

You swatted his hand away with a laugh. "Okay. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, a smile still lingering on his lips.

"Steve. Please don't get me wrong because I love seeing you like this, but it's driving me crazy that I don't know what happened to you."

Steve sat up next to you. He pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I just realized how happy you make me."

His words made you smile. Steve always found a way to let you know how he felt about you. He told you with those tiny kisses he pressed to your cheek early in the morning, when he thought you were still fast asleep. He let you know by surprising you with your favourite flower or your favourite dessert, just because he thought of you and wanted to see your smile. You felt it when he pulled you into those warm hugs from behind, his body yearning to feel you against him. You knew when his eyes lit up every time he met you; the way he watched you when you weren't looking. He said it by telling you how much he missed you and how good you made him feel. The way he always made sure you felt comfortable spoke for itself.

You knew he loved you, because he let you know in a million different ways.

"And I realized if I keep fighting against what I feel I'm not only hurting myself, but you too," Steve went on. "I don't want that. I want to make you as happy as you make me."

His words made your heart swell with joy, but they didn't completely bury your worries away. He rested his palm on your thigh and watched you silently, but you avoided his eyes. He could practically see as a thousand thoughts flashed through your brain. "But, Steve…"

He shushed you with a soft kiss. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. "Stop over-thinking, okay? I promise you have nothing to worry about."

You released a sigh; partly because his soft words calmed you, partly because it annoyed you he kept something from you. "It's the second time today you're asking me to stop over-thinking. It usually happens the other way around."

"See?" Steve shifted and leaned his back against the wall. "I have a lot of experience. You can trust me when I say you should stop."

He looked so peaceful with that small smile on his lips and his hands folded in his lap, you couldn't quite believe he was the same person you met six months ago. There was no sign of any distress, and you knew it wasn't just an act. He couldn't just hide if he felt anxious or uncomfortable.

"But you are up to something, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You don't like surprises."

Steve gave an innocent smile, and you decided to let it go.

You had thought about the future a lot over the past few weeks, but told nothing about it to him. It made you nervous and heartbroken to think about how easily you could lose everything you had with him now, so you avoided the subject as much as you could.

It wasn't always easy, but after you got a call from the magazine, it became nearly impossible. All the worries you had been trying to suppress came to the surface, and it was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears until yesterday. The thought of talking about it was even scarier now.

But seeing Steve so content calmed your nerves. He was usually very relaxed around you, but you had never seen him like this. There was an excited glint in his eyes that made your heart beat faster in anticipation. It made you think you had truly had no reason to worry. He was there and will be with you.

"Have you called Bucky and Sam?" You asked as snuggled closer to him, but Steve shook his head as a no. "Maybe you should. They'd want to know if their best friend is here."

Steve didn't think of this and suddenly he felt a little ashamed. In the last couple of days, he was too busy with planning and you were the only one who could think of.

Nonetheless, he was glad you wanted to include them; after all, they were his family. They would have done everything to convince him to move back to New York and they helped him so much.

He called Sam first, but he was at work so their conversation was short. You could hear a loud _"What?!"_ from the other side of the phone when Steve told him he was in the city, and you couldn't stifle a laugh.

You lay down on the bed and rested your head in Steve's lap while he called Bucky. He gently ran his fingers through your hair and played with the end of your locks while he talked. _"Yes, Bucky. No, I'm not joking. Why would I joke about something like this? Yes, she's with me. Yes. No. I'll tell you later. You're a jerk, you know_ that _?"_

He threw his phone to the bed and shook his head while you looked up at him with a grin.

* * *

You agreed to meet Sam and Bucky for lunch near to your apartment. Going out with Steve and walking on the busy streets of New York was a whole new experience. Everywhere you went was loud and crowded compared to the small and cosy places in Leadville.

By now, you learned that even the smallest public display of affection could turn Steve an embarrassed, blushing mess. At the beginning of your relationship and the first time you had a date outside of your little cabins, you made the mistake that you kissed his lips and snuggled close to him against the cold weather while you waited in front of the small cinema. His eyes darted around back and forth, scanning the strangers around the two of you. He didn't want to push you away, but he didn't feel comfortable at all, which caused him squirming awkwardly next to you.

It wasn't like that now. He clung to your hand as if it was a lifeline, which maybe it was. He kept a hand around your waist and stood close to you when you stopped. Steve had been so calm and cheerful all day, but you felt like he was one tiny triggering aspect away from running back to your flat. He tried not to show it, but his palm was cold and sweaty and he gripped your hand a little tighter than usual.

When you reached the diner, you stopped him in front of the door. "How do you feel?"

Steve shook his head and sighed. How did he feel? He couldn't really tell. So many feelings churned inside him. Above everything, he wanted to make things right. "Nervous."

"We can go home if you want to. I understand if it's too much for you."

"No, no. I want to do this," Steve said with a gentle smile. Being here again after so many years brought back old memories. It helped a lot that he took a walk earlier while you were still asleep. His fears were still too strong, but day by day, he became more excited about the future. He didn't want to give up on it. "I'll be fine."

In the diner, he sat close to you and looked around the room with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows, like a lost puppy. You took his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze, and he didn't let you go. Only a couple minutes after you arrived, the front door opened and Bucky stepped in. He halted a few feet away from your table and took his sunglasses off; his jaw dropped and his eyes round.

"Holy. Shit."

You chuckled while Steve let out an annoyed growl, but he couldn't stop the small smile that slowly appeared on his lips.

Bucky closed the distance and gave a hug to each of you, saying things like "I can't believe my eyes." or "I feel like I went back in time." on repeat.

"Do you really need to overreact this?" Steve asked. You hoped if Bucky showed up he would calm down, but it seemed he was still on edge.

"Oh, am I overreacting?" Bucky raised his eyebrows while he took a seat across you. "You moved across the country and lived in a tree house in the past six years. But sure, pal. I am overreacting."

Steve relaxed for a short time, but it didn't last long. Sam was half an hour late when they first called him, but he didn't pick it up. It was enough to set off Steve's anxiety. Maybe it was a sign that coming back to New York was a bad idea. Maybe it was a punishment for that he still kept one little secret from you. What was he thinking? He shouldn't have done anything behind your back. You always wanted him to talk to you. He was on the edge of bursting out and telling you everything he had planned. And what if something terrible happened to Sam? He was never late or he would at least call or text.

He gripped his fork so tightly his knuckles went white and it surprised you it didn't bend in his hand. While Bucky and you almost finished your lunch, Steve barely touched his food.

Nearly an hour and several missed calls later, Sam finally arrived. He was wearing his NYPD uniform and looked like he was in a hurry, but he grinned when he spotted you and Steve.

"Sorry. There was a robbery."

Steve leaned back against his chair and felt as a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. Still, when he spoke up, his voice was deeper than usual. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't miss this."

"You should be back at the station."

Sam sighed. "Would you look at that? It hasn't been a day since he came back and he's already giving me orders." He reached across the table to pat his shoulder. "Sorry to break it to you, but you're not my boss anymore."

It made Steve smile, and he finally let himself go again. For a while, you watched him talking to his best friends, a soft smile curling your lips. He had changed so much lately, but the last few days were especially definite. This day perfectly showed that he was still struggling, but it didn't matter as long as he tried. He no longer ran away from you when he was scared.

"Man, I can't believe this," Bucky shook his head with a smile. "I've been trying to bringing you back for years and you didn't even hear me out. And there she comes and convinces you in a few months."

You both laughed and Steve grasped your hand gently under the table.

"Are you moving back though? Or just visiting?" Sam asked, but he quickly noticed the way you tensed after his question. "Sensitive topic. Got it. Sorry."

"Not, it's okay," you said, though you felt your heart beating hard and fast in your chest. "I have a job interview on Monday."

Bucky and Sam exchanged a quick glance with Steve, but you didn't dare to look at him or any of them. It was embarrassing. You knew they both had the same question, the question Steve asked you before, the question you tried not to think of.

Sam broke the awkward silence by asking you what kind of job it was. Reluctantly, you answered his questions, but you didn't really want to talk about it.

Before you left the diner, you disappeared in the restroom. You couldn't be away for more than three minutes, but when you returned, Bucky was grinning ear to ear and Sam had a satisfied smile on his lips, too. You looked questioningly at Steve, who gave a small shrug.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Bucky blurted.

"He embarrassed himself in front of the waitress," Sam waved while they stood up from the table.

Bucky's smile disappeared, and he gave an exhausted sigh. "I did not."

While you walked out of the building, hand in hand with Steve in front of the others who argued about if what Bucky did was embarrassing or not, you turned to him. "What did you tell them?"

"What are you talking about? Nothing."

You rolled your eyes. "You're literally the worst liar."

He didn't deny, just smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple.

* * *

The setting sun painted the sky with splashes of pink and orange, colouring the ocean as it if it was liquid gold. The temperature dropped, and you shifted closer to Steve on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder. Neither of you said anything for a while, just watched silently as the sun sank below the horizon.

Steve stood up and pulled you up your feet. Your legs were tired from wandering around the borough all day, but seeing Steve so enthusiastic lifted your spirits like nothing else could.

You were not sure about Coney Island. It was crowded and loud and he had a long day already; you didn't want to push his boundaries if it wasn't necessary. It surprised you, but Steve didn't look anxious at all; in fact, it seemed like he got a new lease of life. He felt nostalgic, but not sad or nervous.

It was well after dark when you climbed into a blue car of the Ferris wheel. The view was breathtaking as you reached the top. The moonlight shimmered on the ocean and you shivered a little with fear; you were so high up and the gentle rocking of the car didn't help at all.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, rubbing your arm.

"Yeah. It's just… this thing looks like it's a hundred year old."

"Because it is," he said, pulling you close to him.

"You know how to calm a girl down."

For a while you were silent, admiring the scenery and staying pressed up close to Steve. When you reached the top the second time, a content sigh left your lips. The colourful lights of the park and the city from the distance was almost blinding, but beautiful. There was no pain that gripped your heart; in that moment, you were just happy to be there with Steve.

"I love Leadville," you spoke up suddenly. "It's so quiet and peaceful. But… I missed this so much."

Leaning closer, Steve buried his nose into your hair and breathed in deeply. His silence scared you, but there was a sweet, growing smile on his lips.

After you left the Wonder Wheel, you wandered around the park, played games, and practically ate your way through Coney Island. Steve had even won you a rainbow coloured plush alpaca.

"We should ride the Cyclone."

Steve pursed his lips. "After all that food? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

You put your hand on your stomach. "Maybe later?"

"Yeah… maybe."

You gave him a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said a little nervously. "But it's the worst ride here. People are screaming your head off and throwing up on each other."

After a small chuckle, you scrunched your nose up. "Throwing up on each other? Who does that?"

Steve stared off into the distance and sighed. "Not me on a double date on my seventeenth birthday."

Your bright laugh filled his ears and he couldn't stifle a smile. "Oh, honey," you breathed out, stopping and turning to face him on the boardwalk. "I wish I knew you back then."

"So I could throw up on you too?"

"Gross. No."

You playfully shoved the plush toy into his chest and he pulled you into him for a kiss. Your lips tasted like cotton candy and he could barely stop himself from deepening the kiss.

"I love you," Steve said quietly when he pulled back, and as the words left his mouth, he closed his eyes again. "I'm sorry."

"Because you love me?"

"Because it took so long to say it."

You gave him a gentle smile and wrapped your arms around his waist. "You've told me a million times before."

* * *

It was late night when you arrived back to your apartment; your legs sore and tired. In the moment you reached the couch, you fell between the cushions with a groan, but didn't close your eyes. Even though you felt exhausted, you didn't want this night to end. It was such a perfect day and you wished you could stop the time.

Steve lifted your leg and plopped down on the couch, gently rubbing your sore feet. He lay his head on the backrest and closed his eyes, a tiny smile lifting his lips. Once again, he looked so peaceful and content. The love and adoration you felt for him spread through your entire body, up into your heart, gripping it painfully and filling your eyes with tears. You couldn't prolong the inevitable any longer.

"Steve," you said his name quietly, pulling your feet off his lap as you sat up. He lifted his head to look at you and a concerned frown creased his forehead when he saw the sad look in your eyes. "I've been thinking, and… even if I don't get the job, I want to come back here."

His features softened and he nodded. He didn't look surprised, sad, or disappointed. To say it confused you would have been a huge understatement.

"It's about time."

You heaved a sigh. Steve told you from the beginning you should leave Leadville "until it wasn't too late", but it happened before you started dating with him. It was complicated.

"I'm so happy I met you." While you didn't want to make it sound like you were saying goodbye, it kind of did. "I don't want to lose what we have now. I know I can't ask you to come with me. You left New York for a reason and you have a life in Leadville now, your job…"

"I already resigned."

"What?!" Your reaction was immediate and Steve was sure even the neighbours could hear your voice. "You did what? When? What the hell, Steve?"

Steve smiled and shifted closer. "The day before we left," he said calmly, taking your hand in his.

"But—oh my God," you weren't sure if you wanted to cry or laugh so the noise that left you was somewhere between the two. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks. "You didn't even know if I get the job! We still don't know…"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to lose you either, sweetheart." Steve brushed your tears away with his thumb.

He didn't tell you about this decision for two reasons. One: he wanted to surprise you. Two: he wasn't completely sure what would you say. He acted first; thought second. Only after he resigned Steve started thinking about what if you wanted to move to Leadville. Or what if you weren't ready for such a commitment? Even though he wouldn't actually move in with you yet, it was still a huge step. He was afraid he made a mistake, until last night when he realized something he failed to notice for so long: the future terrified you.

You let out a shuddering breath. "So it wasn't even an option I could stay in Leadville? I thought about it a lot."

"I know you did. But you don't want to stay there, do you? Your life is here. And I want to be where you are." He paused for a few moments, smiling gently. "You say my life is there, but it isn't. It never was. I moved to Colorado because I wanted to forget and move on. That place mostly reminds me of the worst time of my life. There's nothing for me there. But even if I loved Leadville, it wouldn't worth it if it means I can't have you."

You looked up at the ceiling to blink back the tears, but they came out again with a relieved laugh. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

"I can't believe I thought you want to break up with me," you said as you snuggled close to him, resting your head against his chest. Everything that worried you seemed so insignificant and ridiculous now.

You felt him sighing. "I guess I should've told you," he said, brushing loose strands of hair out of your forehead. "You're so worried about the future all the time."

"I'm not," you said, pulling back with a frown.

Steve gave you a knowing look. "You are. You never think of the future. You quit your job and moved to the middle of nowhere with no plan."

"Others call it spontaneous and brave, you know."

"I call it reckless and irresponsible."

Your head fell on his shoulder and you bit back a comment. After all, he did the same. The difference was that while you ran away so you didn't have to deal with the future, he tried to escape from his past. It didn't work for him and it didn't work for you.

"I hope Leadville reminds you of a few nice things too," you said softly, looking up at him.

"It does," he smiled. He wished he could put into words how much he loved every minute he spent with you.

"Maybe you shouldn't sell the cabin. We could go back for a few days when we want to take a break."

Steve gave you a loving smile and pulled you into a hug. He felt like he finally came home.


	13. Epilogue

**Five years later**

Acorns and dry twigs crackled under your boots as you walked up the trail on the mountain. The mild breeze carried the smell of pine, damp earth and rotting leaves. The sun was still high up in the sky, but the forest's canopy blocked most of the light. Suddenly, you halted.

Steve peeked back over his shoulder and stopped, a smile forming on his lips. His "It-was-your-idea-to-come-back-here" smile. His "So-that's-what-you-call-hiking" smile".

"Are you okay? Do you need me to carry you on my back?"

Leaning your shoulder against the nearest tree, you slapped his hand away and bit back a grin. "I can't feel my legs," you panted, trying to catch your breath. "How far?"

"We're almost there." Steve closed the short distance between the two of you and went to kiss your forehead, but you pressed your palms against his chest to push him back. "Don't touch me, I'm disgustingly sweaty."

In answer, he wrapped both of his strong arms around you and pulled you into him, making the both of you break out into a laugh. Steve seemed to be just fine, not like someone who had been walking up on a sloping road for over an hour. He promised you an exquisite view and he was so excited about it; you didn't want to spoil his fun and say you would rather cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie. And, after all, it was your idea to come to Colorado for the weekend.

Thor galloped ahead of you and disappeared from your sight. His barks echoed somewhere in the distance, but grew closer as Steve called him back.

As you stood there with your back against the tree, taking some rest and drinking a little water, a nostalgic smile curved your lips. The view and the smells brought back memories; memories from five years ago when you first met Steve in the same woods. Sometimes it felt like it happened a lifetime ago, other times, it felt like yesterday.

When Thor was back, you continued your hike. For a short time, you walked downwards, deeper into the woods. It became darker, cooler and so silent it sent a shiver up your spine. The path narrowed until it disappeared.

"Steve. Are you sure you know where we are going?"

"Yes," he said patiently, despite you've already asked the same question at least five times in the past hour.

"Is it safe?"

"It is. Don't worry."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who got lost somewhere around here."

Steve smiled. "Why are you complaining? You found me."

You rolled your eyes. "And if you are not careful, I'll find another sexy lumberjack."

Steve chuckled, shook his head, and squeezed your hand. Ten minutes or half an hour later, you couldn't really tell anymore, the gentle wind hit your cheeks again. The forest got thinner, until you saw daylight between the trees and you almost sighed in relief. Finally, you reached the small clearing you hoped Steve was leading you to.

He took your hand again and led you to the edge off the cliff, and your mouth fell open. Somewhere beneath you lay a lake, vivid blue like Steve's eyes. It was surrounded by the tallest pine trees you have ever seen. Ahead of you, high mountains and thick forests stretched as far as you could see. The endless wilderness was incredibly peaceful and terrifying at the same time. The sight was breath-taking. It was like looking at a painting and you couldn't tear your gaze away.

"So? Is it worth it?"

"Yes," you replied with a dreamy sigh. "This is so beautiful." When you said it out loud, it sounded like an understatement.

After you gave water to Thor, you sat down on the cliff, legs stretched out so your feet dangled over the edge. Steve followed you and you leaned your head on his shoulder. Neither of you said anything for a while, and once again, the same nostalgic feeling washed over you as it always did when you came back here. You looked up at Steve who, judging by his soft smile, had very similar thoughts to yours. He had a short beard again, his hair a little tousled just like when you first saw him. He even wore a red flannel shirt like he did back on that day. For a second, you could have almost sworn you smelled fresh sawdust on him, even though he hadn't worked with wood in ages.

You heard, more than saw as he rummaged through his backpack. With your eyes still on the scenery, you pressed a kiss to his jawline. "You have to paint me this when we get home."

He handed you a bottle of water. "I'm not sure I can do the justice."

Thor still lay beside you when Steve stood up and grasped your hand. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."

With a groan, you let him pull you up your feet. Once you stood again, you realized how tired your legs were; shaky and weak. "I don't think I can climb up anywhere, Steve."

He took your hand and brushed his thumb across your skin. "You don't have to."

Heaving a sigh, you took one last glance at the scenery. Since you moved back to New York, you visited Leadville once in a year, but never wandered too far away from the cabin. "I can't believe you only brought me here now."

Steve smiled. "I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity."

You barely had time to give him a confused look. As the words left his lips, he lowered himself to one knee, and with shaky hands, he pulled a small, red box from his pocket.

"Oh. Oh my God," you breathed out with your hand over your heart, a growing smile on your lips. "Yes!"

Steve froze, but a second later a chuckle shook him. He had a long, well-thought-out speech in his head about past and future and love. About you and him. About how you became his entire world. Now he wasn't sure anymore he could put them into words. "Let me ask first."

"Okay. Sorry. I'm sorry," you babbled, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

Where fear gathered mere seconds ago, his gaze now was filled with relief, devotion, and what you could only describe as love. "Will you—"

"Yes." You laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"You're unbelievable." He wanted to cry and laugh at the same time and it made his voice so unusually trembling. "Will you marry me?"

With a sigh, you tried to stifle your grin. "Well, this is awkward. I don't think we want the same thing—"

Steve stood up with a groan and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifted you off your feet and pressed his lips to yours. He slowly set you down but didn't let you go. Between kisses, you said the word "yes" repeatedly, and it never failed to make him shiver. You felt something wet on your cheek, and you were not sure if they were your tears or Steve's or both of yours. It was getting harder to kiss him because you were smiling so hard, but you didn't want to pull away either.

After what seemed like an eternity, Steve broke the kiss. His cheeks were flushed. He gazed into your eyes and smiled as he gently grasped your hand and slid the ring on your finger. You stared the simple but elegant jewellery for a few seconds, before wrapped your arms around him again, face buried into the crook of his neck.

He softly rocked you in his arms, until you laughed. "Perfect opportunity…"

"You know me," Steve said. "I've been carrying the ring with me for a month."

You burst into a hearty laugh again and wiped your eyes. You loved him so much. "For a month," you repeated and shook your head. You would have said yes if he asked you in bed while you were both half-asleep.

"Let's go home," you said, pressing a small kiss to his lips. "I have to show off my ring."

"And I have to show off my fiancée."


End file.
